And Talking About Trainers
by WeepingAngel123
Summary: A murder takes place in the Papan County and it is up to Ned, Chuck and Emerson to investigate. But things soon go topsy-turvy as the Doctor, Donna and Rose blunder into the investigation and many secrets are unveiled. ON TEMPORARY HIATUS! :S
1. Prologue

**A/N:-AAAAAAARGH, this is my second attempt at a Pushing Daisies fic and my first attempt that isn't a one-shot but a very very VERY long shot… I'm a bit nervous, even though I've posted fanfics before because I don't know what my response will be like and I'm not sure if I'm going to get all the characterisation right.**

**Oh and a humungous **_**Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory**_** sized THANK YOU VERY CHICKENS to LuckyBlackCat for giving me all the tips, help and support with this fic. You're a star!**

**So here it goes, just PM me if you've got any goooood ideas to add to the story and as always, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! It'd be great to hear what you think, even if you do think its krapper (- cool spelling, huh?) than Brussels sprouts! Read on, my faithful chumettes! **

**PS: - Not much stuff in this chapter that includes Doctor Who or Pushing Daisies, but this was just to set the scene and we have a small pepper-spray of our favourite Private Investigator in this…**

**PPS: - I would put it on Crossovers section but the thing is, then it own't show up on the Pushing Daisies Just In or anything side - just the Doctor Who bit.  
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**=D =D**

**NEW AND IMPROVED! lol.  
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**PROLOGUE**

Stretching yellow latex gloves over his slim but sticky dirt-crammed fingers, Paris du Elisabeth, aka son and heir of the renowned Elisabeth du Elisabeth and dedicated tour guide of Muse Museum, snapped the elasticised rubber firmly into place – striding over to the locker. Paris was rich and distinguished, by the mere fact that his mother was owner of the eminent company giant 'Perfume Perfection' and _that _was the reason of the his possession of the object that wasn't to be sold in shops for another night .

Adolescent Paris du Elisabeth was precisely seventeen-years, six weeks, three days and thirteen hours old, and the facts were these: young Paris was not the son, single parent, Elisabeth had ever wished for – in fact, he was the complete opposite, of what Lady Elisabeth du Elisabeth had been expecting. Hidden from the world of fame and flash photography, the mother and son were not on the best of terms due to their lack of similarity and a secret agreement, between mother and child, deep in the depths of the Elisabeth Manor took place.

And, not long after, son and heir of Lady Elisabeth du Elisabeth moved out of the Manor, virtually locked out of the his own mother's residency to search the world for a place to call home – a place where he'd feel belonged. Still unknown to the world of paparazzi and fast travelling news, Paris continued to feign a loving relationship with his mother. Whenever the time of fame called the young boy back to his mother's doorstep, he came to _untruthfully_ tell of his tremendous treks through the Amazon jungle, to cover up the cause of his absence and wear itchy irritating suits and bow ties, showing off to the cameras to please his mother. When the time came, the gates of the manor would close on him once more and he would depart from his mother, once more, still trying to find the place to call _home_.

The facts were these: while trailing along the busy crowded streets, alone, bored and jobless, a huge colourful poster smacked point-blank into Paris's face and the tables of his life turned around, for the one-hundredth and twentieth time in his seventeen years of living. One miserable lonely Paris du Elisabeth was hired by one happy sociable Orlando Crust to serve as a dedicated tour-guide at _Muse Museum_ – undetected from the prying eyes of the public and news, as a famous celebrity's son and heir, by the simple addition of darkly tinted sunglasses, that would hide his true identity… Paris had found his home.

Now, at this very moment, Paris was nineteen years, twenty-six months, five days, twenty hours, when the juvenile youngster opened the locker, with a scrape of metal and a soft click, to unveil _his_ prized possession – Jacob Deflector's _Deflectors_. The shoes that he'd been enabled to own one day early, because of his mothers' endless connections with the famous. The young boy planned to show them off at the 'Famous Shoes Belonging To Famous People' Exhibit, where the reaction of the sneakers, he knew oh-so well, would be phenomenal and crowd-pleasing.

Humming the childhood tune of _Old McDonald Had A Farm _to himself, Paris sat himself down onto one of the benches, carefully put his sneakers on and with a torn-off sleeve and a dish of shoe-shine, polished the red, green and blue sneakers. He handled them with tender and loving care, as if they were the most prized, precious possession in the entire world – _prized, precious possession_ being the operative words, as too engrossed in his obsession with the shoes – Paris failed to notice the unwanted guest that had sneaked into the room.

There was a distant _twang, _the lights in the room diminished into darkness. Pardoning the estranged hum of the radiator and Paris's tune concluding to a cease, and like pies are baked with love, like ingredients are baked in pies, like anti-depressants are baked in the Charles' pies and like pies are baked in ovens – the room was baked in… _silence_.

"Who's there?" Paris du Elisabeth called out timidly, but received no reply. "Whoever is there – turn the lights on, _please_, because it ain't very nice, OK?" There was a grave silence and the only sound heard in the young boy's ears, was the rapid nervous drumming of his heart. "D'you knows who I am? I assure you – if I told you who I really was, and then you'd be running out of here faster than you can say _Deflectors_! Fine then, as you wish. I am Paris du Elisabeth, greatly loved, prestigious, rich and famous son and heir of Lady Elisabeth du Elisabeth. I… err… umm… _order_ you to show yourself!"

The shuffling of coarse footsteps followed and the sound of Paris sighing with relief, reverberated around the small claustrophobic room.

"It's only you… But what you doing with that thing? That's mine and so are those! What are you--"

Young Paris du Elisabeth was nineteen years, twenty-six months, five days, twenty hours, seven-minutes old and not a minute older.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Two miles east and one day, seven hours and nineteen minutes later, Private Investigator, Emerson Cod sat comfortably at his desk – contently thumbing through an issue of his favourite magazine _Knitwits_, whilst sewing together a woolly vest-jumper for himself when there was a loud cough at the door. Hurriedly sweeping everything away into his bottom desk drawer and planting a _no-no_ expression on his face, the Private Investigator looked up to see a tall, high-nosed, pretty blonde in a sparkly short dress and gold five-inch high heels stood pompously in front of the open door.

"Mr Cod, I'd like you to solve a murder for me."

Emerson Cod looked at her blankly, and had precisely two things to say.

"Listen lady, I'm a busy man and I have exactly two things to say. _Rule Number One: _did anyone teach you that's it's considered polite to knock, 'cos if they did they haven't been doing a very good job, and _Rule Number Two_: don't buy fish on a Monday."

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 1 Olive Snook and the Blue Box

**Next chapter up. Hope you like it!!**

**So here it goes, just PM me if you've got any goooood ideas to add to the story and as always, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! It'd be great to hear what you think, even if you do think its krapper (- cool spelling, huh?) than Brussels sprouts! Read on, my faithful ****chumettes! **

**The Global Warming gag is definitely not a main PLOT or ANYTHING in my story, just put it there for fun! **

**READ AND REVIEW…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who OR Pushing Daisies!! Sadly…**

**Ooh and thank you very much to you all who've reviewed and put me on alerts/favourites!!!  
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**=D =D

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Chapter One - Olive Snook and the Blue Box

Olive positively sighed with exhaustion, as she sat down on a stool after she'd served yet another delicious _Kohlua Cream Cheese And Triple Blueberry Pie Deluxe_ to the happily satisfied customer, with the green hair and the pink short shorts – everybody was getting ready for the summer these days… (Even though it was only freaking February!)

Chuck was busy sorting out the different ingredients in the storage cupboard; the very same storage cupboard that Olive was strangely _not_ allowed to even see, while Ned was behind the counter, dreamily pulling out a piping-hot golden crispy pie from the oven.

"Why is it so hot in the middle of February? It's still supposed to be winter and we're no where near the equator," Olive huffed, as she leaned on the counter and used her are skinny elbows to proper herself up.

"It's because the world is sad," he received raised eyebrows from Olive. "Global Warming; the more pollution we cause by not reusing highly reusable substances like… _rubbish_, the hotter and hotter the Earth gets," Ned explained simply. "If only people found the need to reuse bits of rubbish, then the world would be a better place and i.e. it wouldn't be so hot in the middle of February."

Olive scoffed, "_Humph! _Yeah right Ned, how can you reuse bits of rubbish like dead strawberries or rotten apples? The only way that that's ever gonna happen is if everyone has a dinky magical finger that could bring the dead back to life! Then you could resurrect all the dead apples you wanted, Ned," A horrid afterthought sent a shiver down Olive's spine. "_Yuck_, don't let me think about it! But imagine that, dead-but-brought-back-to-life ingredients used in our pies, you wouldn't catch me eating pies anymore. I'm glad that's not going to happen, don't you think Ned?"

Ned swallowed a lump in his throat and he furtively slipped a glance at the storage cupboard, where a whole batch of _dead things_ were ready to be revived. He secretly hoped that Olive hadn't meant what she just said, because two things would happen: a) He'd be very _very _guilty and b) He would also feel very _very _hurt.

"Science is very unpredictable and a lot of things could happen in the future, so I wouldn't say it was impossible. And I wouldn't say it's that bad, in fact, I'd say alive-again objects aren't bad at all and can be highly nutritious and delicious, if used in the appropriate way, of course."

"How would you know?" Olive narrowed her eyes and Ned's heart stopped for a split second, as his mind jumped to vivid exotic conclusions. Olive read the look on his face and grimaced. "Oh gawd, you don't really have a magic finger do you Ned?" Ned looked like he was about to faint, but then Olive's face broke into a steady grin and she laughed. "Sheesh! Like I really believe in that sorta stuff… Why d'you look so scared? Unless you _do _have a magic finger that can bring back the dead…"

"No, no, of course not. That would be highly unlikely and extremely impossible to have a finger that can bring back the dead," Ned lied quickly.

Olive knew that voice; it was the voice Ned used when he was trying to hide something from her and she suspected that Ned knew something that she didn't. Olive just dismissed the thought like every other secret she'd been left out on. Like the reason why Chuck was allergic to Ned or the reason why Ned kept going to morgues and solving murder investigations so quickly _or _the reason why she wasn't even allowed to go into the storage cupboard. But those things would have to remain hidden, until the day Olive finally got to the bottom of the mystery. For now, she'd pretend not to care, like the times she pretended not to care that Ned was deeply in love with Chuck, and he didn't even give Olive a second glance.

Luckily Chuck, having heard the conversation, saved the day – putting Ned at peace, once again and making his heart flutter at the sound of her voice. She ever so innocently asked Olive to help her by chucking the rubbish out because Ned was busy making pies and Chuck had to finish tidying up the cupboard.

Sighing, Olive obliged and smiled at her friend, walking over to collect the heavy filled bin bag and shuffling out the back door to chuck the bag into the dumpster.

As soon as Olive had gone out, both Ned and Chuck breathed heavy sighs of relief. But their liberation was soon broke, as the bell on the door jingled and Emerson Cod strode in – the same pokerfaced expression etched on his mysterious face.

In big lengthy strides, Emerson walked up to the counter and sat himself down at the stool. He then briefly scanned the area for the signs of a certain Itty Bitty and whispered to the girl named chucked and the pie-maker, "I think you and your lil magic finger have got some work to do; there's been a murder."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Exactly one hour, thirty-two minutes and fifty-two seconds ago, Emerson Cod sat at his next reading his adored _Knitwits_ magazine _,_when there was a sudden gruff clearing of a throat at the door and the man looked up to find a tall well-suited lady at the door. The tall, well-suited lady majestically strode in, nose stuck up high in the air.

He had immediately shoved his _Knitwits _magazine in his drawers and after telling this mysterious blonde to knock before entering and his advice about buying fish, got down to business.

The lady, who in fact was called, Lady Elisabeth de Elisabeth, explained to Emerson the brief but tragic explanation of the death of her beloved son. Emerson leaned back into his seat and eyed Lady Elisabeth de Elisabeth suspiciously, inwardly indicating a certain something.

Once, a show of one-thousand crisp dollar bills had been wafted in front of his money-loving eyes, Emerson promised Lady Elisabeth de Elisabeth to solve the murder of her not so fortunate son. He subsequently called on his best-friend and fellow partner in investigation, Ned the pie-maker.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Noisily clip-clopping in her high heels to the dumpster and holding the pungent smelling bin bag at arms length, Olive slowly made her way across the dull, bumpy pebbles. Her sharp ears unexpectedly pricked up and there was a sudden breeze in the air, followed by the peculiar grinding of engines. Olive's eyebrows knitted together nonplussed, and looked around only to find no wind or any cars anywhere nearby; so forth shrugged and continued her errand. But as she felt the rush of cool air hit the back of her uncovered legs and the ruffles of her dress rise, she knew that's something was very _very _wrong.

In fact, Olive Snook knew that something was very _very _wrong, when she turned around to find a small blue box with the letterings: _Police Public Call Box_ suddenly appear in front of her, out of nowhere. Olive's mouth dropped into a wide 'O' of surprise, stepping back in alarm.

What could only be described as a blue door squeaked open, face-to-face with the red brick wall and out echoed distant voices. Olive's head immediately picked up a worried mantra of _Alien aren't real, aliens aren't real, aliens aren't real, aliens aren't--_

Olive stayed completely paralysed to the spot, as the voices grew ever louder and this time she could make out some of the words. It was in English, pure English, so that meant the owners of the blue _box _mustn't be aliens! Well, they might well be foreign British aliens, judging by their accent, but _even_ Olive Snook knew that proper aliens could _not _speak English; it was a common known fact!

But little did she know…

"Doctor, when you said we were going to land 'slap-bang in the middle of good old sunny sky-scraper America', I didn't know you meant slap-bang in the middle of a flipping wall!" shouted a loud, rough voice and Olive swore she saw a glimpse of fiery red.

_OK, maybe they a__re aliens, _Olive inwardly thought to herself, inching back every few seconds._ Huge, English-speaking red-headed aliens._

"What d'you mean?" yelled another voice, male this time.

"Donna means that we shouldn't ever trust you to hit the TARDIS with a mallet again," came a slightly less-rough female tone. "I think you've offended her, Doctor. If it helps, we've landed nose to nose with a brick wall."

"What?" came the half-confused, half-amused male again. Olive counted the voices on her fingers and stared at the small box, how could so many people fit inside such a tiny box? That couldn't be possible!

"That must be one hell of a tight squeeze…" Olive muttered to herself.

"If you don't believe us Doctor, why don't you have a look for yourself?" shouted the slightly-less-rough female.

There was a lot of banging, clanging and yelps, until finally the male voice became loud and prominent.

"Ah, I see what you mean. Sorry 'bout that, ladies! I think we'll just have to--" the male's voice ceased and Olive cocked her head, as if trying to find the reason as to why the voice had suddenly stopped. She did find herself randomly attached to that particular voice after all. _It was so sweet and dreamy and…_

Olive shook her head to clear her mind of the thoughts and blinked back to reality, gasping to see that a male figure clad in brown with messy brown hair was staring at her intently. She could only see half of his body, because the rest of it was blocked by the blue door. Oh-oh.

"Oh hello there!" he called out to her, waving madly.

"Hello," Olive whispered back with a small nervous wave.

She then dropped the bag of rubbish, and frantically legged it back into the comforting safety of the Pie Hole with a loud frightened: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

"Why do they _always_ run off screaming?" the Doctor sighed to himself.

_To Be Continued…_

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**Hope you guys liked it! Please continue and give me feedback. I seriously don't mind **_**anything at all**_**. Praise, tips, advice, constructive criticism, flames and even long-long letters are VERY WELCOME! C ya after you've pressed that button… *hints* =D =D **


	3. Chapter 2 Hard Luck

**A/N: - For some crazy reason, I really enjoyed writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy reading it!**** If anyone doesn't watch/know of Pushing Daisies, don't hesitate to go on my profile and PM me with any questions. I'd be happy to answer them all!!! (And babble on a bit…) This chapter came sooner than expected, so I hope you like it!!!  
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**ANOTHER THANK YOU TO LuckyBlackCat who's inspired me and given me quite a few tips, phrases and ideas to use, especially in this particular chappie!!**

**HAPPY MERRY READING!**

**Reviews are loved, much!!! =D =D =D **

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN these lovable, amazing, funny, stupid shows!!! Unfortunately… **

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Chapter One - Hard luck

"I don't think she seemed to like you old girl," the Doctor talked to his mysterious blue box, as he patted it companionably and drifted into a tr_a_in of thought, gazing at the brick wall pensively.

But precisely one minute and twenty-two seconds later, the man called the Doctor was (literally) _slapped_ back into reality, by one red-headed companion by the name of Donna Noble.

"HELLO?Earth girl calling spaceman… Maybe you can fit through that tiny gap skinny boy, but I can't. You gonna get us round the right way or what?" She asked, well it was more of a command than a question... Donna didn't give him time to think, before she shoved him abck intot he TARDIS and gently pulle dthe door shut behind her.

"You'd better get it right this time," Rose added, joining Donna's current position by the railing.

Two minutes later, after lots of button-pressing and lever-pulling, the TARDIS was ready again. With a grinding of engines and whirring of time, the ancient Time Machine dematerialised and prepared to blend back into existence, once more.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Olive's un-batlike ears failed to notice that the mysterious blue box had, in fact, disappeared as she sprinted back in to the kitchen – still screaming. Olive slammed the backdoor shut behind her with a soft _click_, pressing her back against the wood of the door.

"Phew, that was a close one," Olive sighed, wiping her forehead in exasperation. She blinked up to see that Ned, Emerson and the girl called Chuck were staring at her in surprise, all paralysed at the sudden outburst.

"You scared the living hell outta me, girl!" Emerson growled. They'd just been discussing about the new murder case and the plan for the day, when Olive had unexpectedly burst into the room - leaving them all scarred for life...

"Olive - is there a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you ran back into the Pie Hole screaming?" Ned asked, staring at her with his soft brown eyes.

"What's wrong, Olive? What happened out there?" Chuck quizzed sweetly, walking over to rest an arm around her shoulder.

"There. Was. A. Small. Blue. Box." Olive panted in between breaths, peeling the blinds back slightly to check for any particular strangers with brown hair and a dreamy voice.

"Say that again?" Chuck enquired, eyes drifting from Olive to Ned to Emerson and back again.

"I went to throw the trash in the dumpster, when all of a sudden there was this wind, conjuring up out of nowhere and this noise, as if engines were grinding and then… BANG!" Olive jumped up to shout the last words in shock, causing the rest of the gang to leap back in fear. She shrunk back down again and her eyes swam from side to side mysteriously. "There was this small blue box, appearing out of nowhere and I heard these voices, I thought they were aliens at first, but then I heard them talk English – _British English_…" They looked at her in shock and bemusement. "Then I saw this flash of red-hair and this cute guy came out, said hello to me, and I ran back in here screaming. Basically, I think we've got a case of aliens-in-disguise round the back."

"Olive, are you sure you aint hallucinating? That sounds pretty damn dubious to me," Emerson asked her blankly, leaning forward.

"Yeah, maybe Emerson's right, the heat might've got to your head, Olive and you were _imagining_ you saw all those things," Chuck suggested and turned to the Pie Maker. "Right Ned?"

Ned smiled and stared at his beloved dreamily, nodding.

Emerson growled, "Can we have less of the lovey-dovey eyes?"

Chuck blushed furiously and Ned tore his eyes away from her.

"Alright, if you don't believe me, come and have a look outside with me!" Olive exclaimed, getting up and shrugging out of Chuck's clutch. She peeled open the door and shut her eyes confidently, saying, "Don't come crawling back to me when you see some scary blue box!" she pushed the back door open and confidently acclaimed. "_See_?"

"Err, Olive…" Ned began and Olive's eyes snapped open in disbelief. She gasped and ran up to the empty brick wall, feeling the place where she saw the blue box, the red-head and the cute male. It was all _gone_!

"But, it was right here!" she protested, clacking her heels on the spot, as if to prove her point.

"The only thing that _is _right here is a yellow-headed Itty Bitty, who's gone out of her mind," Emerson concluded, gesturing the empty area.

"But I'm not lying Emerson! You have to believe me!" Olive wailed, jumping up.

"Look, Olive, if there was some blue box, then where is it… Huh?" Emerson continued. "Now can we go in and have some pie? I haven't had my lunch yet Olive and I'm warning you now girl, you don't want to see me when I'm hungry."

"Stuff your pie Emerson; _this_ is important. I'm telling you the blue box was right here! But, that's the thing; it appeared out of nowhere. So maybe if it can appear out of nowhere, then maybe it can easily disappear too!" she reasoned, proving no prevail. "I know what I saw and I saw an English red-headed alien and there was this cute guy all dressed in brown!"

"Riiiiiight..."

Olive tried to point out some reasonably reasonable reasons, but Emerson had a simple explanation to each and every one of them. Their conversation ended not long after and they all shuffled back into the Pie Hole's kitchen, after Chuck had suggested that they should all go back in, have a slice of Ned's pie and _discuss_ about what Olive might've really saw. All agreed, subtracting one.

But to Olive's misfortune, as soon as Ned had gently pulled the door shut behind him, the grinding of the small-blue-box proved its presence as the TARDIS noisily whirred back into existence. It landed with another soft thump, away from any prying eyes, including the pair of bright blue eyes that belonged to a curious young Olive Snook.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"'Cording to a reliable source of mine, we're in a place called _Couer d'Couers_," Rose announced briefly, stepping out from the depths of the dank alley into the bright sunlight.

"What _reliable source_?" the Doctor exclaimed mock-indignantly, staring at Rose. "I'll have you know that I, Rose Tyler, am the most reliable source that ever hit this Universe!"

"Ok then clever clogs, where and _when _are we then?" Donna asked bluntly, removing her thick jacket, unable to stand the humidity.

"We are in Couer d'Couers, in… in…" the Doctor stammered, wracking his brains with no triumph.

Donna rolled her eyes and turned to Rose, "What else does it say on that newspaper Rose?"

A large grin erupted on Rose's face that stretched from ear to ear, meaning only one thing.

"We're in America!"

"This is great! Well, that must be why it's so hot. Well, it's a difference to rainy old Chiswick. It couldn't go a week without it raining cats and dogs!" Donna joined in jovially.

"Same with the Powell Estate," Rose agreed. "Looks like _he_ did get the co-ordinates right after all,"

"Makes a change…" Donna muttered, but was interrupted by an indignant: "Oi!" from the Doctor.

Donna accompanied Rose skimming the newspaper for any good gossip of the sort, but was only met by lots of brightly coloured adverts and amusing headlines like; _'Billy Beans Triumphs Again With Spectacular Shoe-eating Act' _and _'Best Friends Incorporation Goes Loco'._ Maybe they'd get a _normal_ day-out in America this time. Last time, they came here, it was the year 4645 and psychotic robots were charging about the place, on a killing spree. Due to the Doctor's unsuccessful lucky-escape speech, it wasn't so lucky and so forth, they got shoved in prison by the robots.

"Near future," Donna said, indicating the date.

"24th February, 2009. You wouldn't have thought, what with this weath--"

"HA! That is just _brilliant_!" the Doctor exclaimed suddenly, making both Rose and Donna jump. They stared at him, only to be replied by a gesture of the most peculiar building they'd ever seen in their lives. "A pie-shaped building! Called the Pie Hole! Where they make pie! You humans are absolutely _brilliant_! I love pie! This is just fantastic; we _have_ to go in there! I hope they make banana pie! Cos of all the different planets and places I've been to, I've never actually come across banana pie. I mean there's blueberry pie and raspberry pie and I've even tried pear pie, I mean _pear pie_! Who'd want pear pie? But _no_ banana pie! How unfair is that? Somebody really should takre some advice!"

Rose and Donna gaped up in fascination at the golden brown pie shaped structure that had the most perfect beautifully decorated golden piecrust roof with delicate touches, just giving it that glow. It was almost good enough to eat…

"Speaking of pies: have I ever told you two about my time with Enid Blyton?" the Doctor babbled on. "No!? Oh, you would have loved it! I helped her invent Timmy; you know the _Famous Five's _dog and I named it too, course. Then we all had this delicious blackberry pie – not a notch to bananas of course, but you know what the best bit was? She treated us to cupcakes, with silver ball bearings! I mean how great is that? Then we had a game of----—" The Doctor continued, rambling wildly to himself and oblivious to everything but.

"He's not gonna stop is he?" Donna asked, not bothering to shut the Time Lord up.

"Nope! D'you think we should just go on in without him?" Rose sighed.

"Maybe I'll just--" Donna glanced at the Timelord, who was still obsessing about Martian hockey or something or other, and rolled her eyes, giving in. She decided to find out how good the Pie Hole's pies really were. It would be interesting, "On second thoughts, lead the way! Let's leave Time Boy to it."

And with that, the women abandoned the Doctor, who was _still _happily babbling to himself in the middle of the pavement and getting weird looks from passers-by. They gently pushed the door open and entered the exquisite sounding café. As soon as the Doctor'd realised that Donna and Rose had left him, he rushed after them too.

A pie-shaped building called the Pie Hole, where they made pies; this was going to be fun! There was no harm in just a _little_ exploring.

Little did he know about that they were just about to involve themselves in the weirdest events of his extremely long life…

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"I know what I saw!" Olive cried out angrily for the umpteenth time, hurling the Blueberry cup-pie at the customer, who stared at her with large terrified eyes.

Ned recoiled in shock and began, "Olive, I don't mean to ruin your…" Ned paused to find the correct word, "speech, but..."

"THEN DON'T!" Olive roared.

The customer which she had just hurled the pie at leapt up in fear, threw some money at the counter, grabbed his cup-pie, muttered a 'Thanks' and sprinted out the Pie Hole as fast as his little legs could carry him.

"But please lower you voice so that the customers don't get frightened and…" Ned sighed, as he saw the customer make hsi escape. "…r_un away_."

"Sorry," Olive replied candidly and began her babbling her long list of explanations and 'claims' to a very bored Emerson.

He'd only come in for one delicious hot pie and one magic-fingered Ned to go, but landed up with a whole Olive Snook instead. He sighed and grudgingly listened to the woman ramble her hearts out, generally grunting and offering his (unwanted) opinions every now and again.

Ned turned to Chuck, and smiled at her softly – longing to touch her, but unable to because of the curse he carried…

The facts were these: Ned had a special power, he could bring back the dead with his magic finger; touch the dead once, life; touch the dead again, dead. Forever. This was the reason why he was unable to touch the love of his life and childhood sweetheart, Charlotte 'Chuck' Charles.

"I'm so glad you don't hallucinate," Ned whispered to Chuck quietly.

"Me too," Chuck replied. "But what if Olive's _right_, what if she did see something out there? What if that something disappeared, like she said?"

"Then we'll say sorry and make it up to her!" Ned said reasonably.

"That's what I love about you," Chuck said, reaching for the piece of clear plastic that was on the table. "You're always so sweet about everything."

Using the cling film to separate herself from Ned, she leaned forward to kiss Ned on the lips (through the plastic, of course), and was careful not to touch him, maintaining her hold on the clear plastic. Olive looked at the passionate pair through slightly jealous sneaky glances.

There was a sudden tinkle at the door and Olive hopped up off the seat and plastered a wide smile on her face, not quite looking at the new customers.

"Hello and welcome to the Pie Hole. I'm Olive and I'm your waitress for today, if you'd just like to take a seat and I'll be happy to take your order!"

Rose and Donna stared at the scene before them in confusion and perplexity, and they paid no attention to the small blonde waitress. For their attention was solely fixed on the strange couple behind the serving counter, whom were both entranced in a kiss. Through a clear piece of Clingfilm…

"_Whaaaaat?"_

Due to politeness, the words weren't said but the looks the redhead and the blonde-haired woman shared, said all too much.

The Doctor bounded in after, looked up in surprise at the couple behind the counter, and then turned his head away from the scene, _trying _not to be nosey and pulling Rose and Donna onto the same tracks. The Doctor closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in the warm sweet-smelling air, that simply smelt of baking and peace. It had been a long time, since he'd been anywhere like this.

They all (somehow) diverted their attention from the mysterious peculiar couple, and the Doctor jerked his head around to face their waitress.

At twelve minutes past twelve in the afternoon, _lots_ of different things happened...

One oblivious couple ceased their actions and noticed the silence, one Private Investigator's eyes narrowed suspiciously, one blonde and one red-head tried to break the silence, one brown suited man beamed and looked up, but at the exact same time, one blonde waitress by the name of Olive Snook finally gazed into the faces of each new customer… It was the English-speaking red-headed alien! And a blonde she didn't know about! And...

"YOU!"

Olive gasped and pointed a finger at the brown-haired, brown suited, familiar face in shock.

"Who's you?" Emerson called out in confusion, getting no response.

The Time Traveller grinned, waved at the paralysed waitress and received confused looks from his companions, which he ignored.

"Why yes it is!?" the man exclaimed happily, a grin stretching from ear to ear, as he rubbed the nape of his neck. His eyes suddenly shone. "Oh, how rude and not ginger of me, I forgot to introduce myself. HELLO AGAIN! I'm the Doctor."

And then, one Olive Snook fainted.

_To Be Continued…_

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**Hope you liked it! Yay, two updates in two days! I could get used to this – if school didn't get in the way…**** Reviews equal chocolate!**

**=D =D**

**Quote of the moment:**

**Narrator**: Olive wanted to let loose the secrets and lies she's been force fed by her friends, that Chuck was still alive, that Lily was her mother, but instead what came out...was this.

**Olive**: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

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	4. Chapter 3 Digging Up the Dirt

**A/N: - Hey, I finally got this chapter up. I know there's not much action in these couple of chapters but I'm just building the plot and characters up, at the moment. Ooh and don't worry Digby's in this chapter and Pigby's yet to star! PM me with any ideas for a Pigby appearance cos I'm stuck at the moment…**

**Lots of dialogue in this and I'm sorry for the late update – I was busy working on **_**Series Three in Yellow, Red and Brown**_** on Saturday and I've been fairly occupied all day! Thank you to a certain PM for reminding-without-reminding me about this fic!! Updates will be between weekly and twice weekly depending on my strange disorganised busy homework-clogged swine flu overreacted life. **

**HEHE…**

**A WHOPPING BIG thanks for all your brilliant reviews, subscriptions and favourites for this story!**

**(Read and review?!?)**

**ENJOY!**

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Chapter Three – Digging Up the Dirt

"Is she awake?" grunted Emerson.

"Digby?" Chuck trilled straightforwardly.

Not a minute later, a coarse sloppy wet tongue jerked Olive Snook back to life as her dark hazel eyes snapped open and back into action. The waitress shrieked at the giant mass of yellow before her, but doesn't do good to my heart quickly recovered as her vision cleared and patted her good pal, Digby, on the head fondly. He licked her again.

"I thought you were never gonna wake up," Emerson said to Olive, face sliding into view and the two familiar faces of Chuck and Ned joined him - and Digby, of course.

"Where am I?" Olive asked, rather dumbly.

"On the floor," supplied Emerson.

"What happened?"

"You had a baby. What d'you think happened? You fainted."

"Oh I've had the weirdest of dreams, I dreamt that this blue box appeared outside and there was this red-headed alien and," She rubbed her head. "You sure I just haven't just had five pints of Vodka? 'Cos it sure feels like it. Anyway, there was this cute guy dressed all in brown and he came to our restaurant and… _hell's bells_!"

The Doctor's manically happy enthusiastic face loomed into view, "Hello! Didn't mean to frighten you back there, _anyway_…"

"It wasn't a dream was it?" Olive was responded by a blatant shaking of heads.

"I've did it again haven't I?" the man in pinstripes sighed and asked the small crowd around him, as Olive drifted back into unconsciousness.

They all nodded.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Emerson," Olive uttered as her eyes fluttered open, again. "I've had the weirdest of drea--"

"This is not a dream!" Emerson warned, pulling Olive into an upright position – not allowing the possibility of another black out from the happy waitress. "This is the real world and that suspicious brown obsessed fellow over… _there_…" He jabbed a stumpy finger in the direction of the Doctor who was sitting comfortably on a stool, waving sheepishly and sitting with a red-head and a blonde. "_is_ real, so accept it." Olive stared from Emerson to the Doctor and back, face point-blank. "You gonna quit gawking any time soon? I've got some rhubarb I'd like to attend to right now."

Snapping out of her present time trance, Olive reluctantly tore her eyes away from the man-who-owned-the-blue-box-and-had-a-cute-face, released her grip on Emerson's hand and jumped up, scuttling behind the counter – all the while with a furtive well-trained eye observing the trio in the corner.

"So what's the dirt?" Olive exclaimed vibrantly, intercepting Ned and Chuck's current conversation. Chuck stared at her naively. "Oh like you don't know: those three in the corner – especially the cute but creepy guy who owns the blue box."

"We…" Ned said, eyes shifting from side to side.

"You're telling me that, while I've been busy fainting and lying on the cold harsh tiles on the floor, you haven't even found out their names!" Olive cried out indignantly, arms flailing up in the air before they dropped back down to her side.

"_Harsh_ is a very strong term used to describe something unwelcoming and neglected, Olive, but the Pie Hole is a very welcoming and very well looked after food eatery," Ned contributed calmly, them frowned. "Are the tiles _really_ that bad?"

"I was emphasising my irritation at you two for not helping me on my mission."

"What mission?"

"The man in the trench coat is a doctor of some sort, he's even got this medical bleepy torch examining thing and credentials!" provided Chuck brightly, breaking the silence. "And I think they're all British!"

"Well _that_ doesn't help me know if their aliens or not."

Ned and Chuck shared a flummoxed gaze.

"Wait a minute, if _he's _here, then that blue box will be out there," Olive said, crossing over to the backdoor, peeking through the blinds.

Chuck patted Olive on the shoulder, "Why don't _you_ go out there and take their order? Then you can try and dig up some information about them."

"But what if they attack me?!"

"Olive, didn't you tell me before that you had several long standing restraining orders concerning your methods of self-defence?"

"Oh, alright then…" Olive grumbled, snatching some menus off of the table and prompting a beam from the girl named Chuck, as she dodged the counter and padded over to the newcomers' table.

"_There are no such thing as British aliens There are no such thing as British aliens._

_There are no such thing as British aliens,_" Olive's muttering faded away, as she distanced herself from that particular side of the counter.

Emerson forked the last scrap of rhubarb pie into his mouth and wiped the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief, satisfied and full as he pushed the plate to the side.

"Now let's get down to business."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

_Starting ten minutes, thirty-three and seventy milliseconds earlier._

"Is she alright?" Rose queried the Doctor with concern, as she hopped up onto a stool, eyes sliding towards the cataleptic figure on the floor. "Doesn't look too good."

"Yep! I gave her a quick bleep with the Sonic and told that nice girl 'Charlotte', I think it was, that it was a new form of technology in hospital – best just leave the Sonic at that. Anyway, she'll be as right as rain as rain when she gets up – just a state of shock. I think I frightened her a bit."

"You don't say…" murmured Donna to herself.

"You've met?" Rose added curiously.

"Just briefly," the Doctor shrugged it off dismissively. Rose raised her eyebrows. _"What_?!"

"Budge," Donna stated simply, as she nudged the skinny excuse of a Time Lord out of the way and seated herself on a red stool next to Rose. "What exactly did you do to that poor girl that you caused her to faint?"

"Nothing!" More raised eyebrows and the Doctor raised his hands up in surrender. "Honestly! All I did was say _hello_ to her, when she saw me come out of the TARDIS."

"She what?!"

"Saw me come out of the TARDIS!" the Doctor repeated cheerfully. "Come to think of it, she probably saw the TARDIS land too… Ah, so that's why she ran off screaming!"

Rose was shaking her head in disbelief and Donna looked aghast.

"It's a wonder she didn't call the press 'ere!" Donna sighed. "She probably heard our 'debate' too…" She started counting the reasons off on her fingers. "A tiny blue _police box_ appearing out of nowhere, a load of British accents stemming from the inside of a smaller-on-the-outside box, a hyperskinny man making his appearance; boy, you really aint any good at introductions!"

"Donna, like remember that time we got arrested as soon as we stepped out the TARDIS 'cos _himself _ introduced us on the psychic paper as something offensive to the king of the planet?" Rose remembered, a grin spreading.

"Oh yeah!"

"Hey, it wasn't _my _fault – it was the psychic paper!"

They had continued to debate and argue, until the large man in the suit across the room had suddenly declared that the _faintee _was stirring, so they'd switched their attention back around to the blonde waitress and gathered round. They watched as an adorable Golden Retriever had bounded happily into view and licked the unconscious blonde's face, immediately awaking her.

However, the Doctor's attention was seemingly diverted in the duration of the waitress's conversation with the dark skinned man, and had found its way sneakily observing the girl (he didn't know was) named Charlotte 'Chuck' Charles and the ostensible owner/pie-baker of/at the Pie Hole. The Doctor had instantly assumed that they were a couple of some sort, judging by the loving, tender looks they gave each other and their obvious (well, to Time Lords at least) body language.

The Time Lord's concentration had meandered its way over to the pair, whom of which were both hovering over the now conscious chatty figure, because their body language had certainly caught his attention. The position they held their hands in the air as they talked and stood next to each other, showed that they obviously _wanted_ to hold hands but needed. This stroke the Doctor odd as the couple hadn't seemed to have shown any difficulty expressing their feelings when he'd first entered and they'd been kissing… through a piece of plastic. That was even odder than anything…

The blonde called Rose had slipped the words, "_Rude and not ginger." _Into his ears, when she'd noticed him intently staring at the people whom she didn't know as Ned and Chuck, and the Doctor had jerked his focus away from them and back to the matter at hand. But the facts were these: this was a instant mistake.

"Hello! Didn't mean to frighten you back there, _anyway_…" the Doctor had exclaimed merrily and the big mistake was this: at the sound and appearance of the Time Lord, Olive Snook had fainted. Again.

The Doctor had again explained to slightly awkward male, whom had introduced himself as 'Emerson Cod' that the Sonic Screwdriver was a highly official but secret piece of new hospital technology. He proceeded to scan the waitress's body for a second time and stated that this was just a state of shock and repercussion. But, Emerson kindly but somewhat bluntly told the Doctor that it'd be better if he wasn't there because of the last reaction of his attendance, so he, Rose and Donna shuffled back to their stools and sat.

All six of them: that being, the Doctor, Donna, Rose, Ned, Chuck and Emerson, stood watching and waiting for the waitress to come round. But in the long wait, the friendly-but-slightly-awkward man, Emerson, had ordered a rhubarb pie and the brunette called 'Charlotte' had served it. The Doctor, Rose and Donna had shuffled back to their seats

The blonde waitress, whose name was currently unknown, had, at long last, woken up for the second time and was forced _not to_ faint again – only greeted by the Doctor at a distance, as a precaution.

More events had happened and the moments in time had led up to this very moment, when Olive Snook clip-clopped up to them – a clearly nervous but determined smile on her face as she gripped brightly coloured menus in her hand.

Olive was clearly stuck for words as she _silently _handed the list of options over to them – not even saying a word…

"Err, sorry 'bout earlier!" the Doctor said optimistically, trying to start a conversation. "All earliers, in fact, especially the first earlier…"

"Nah, don't be! I'm sure its perfectly normal to see a…" A small frown embedded itself onto Olive's face. "Little, blue box appear out of nowhere and land in the back alley, with a cute guy in brown," Olive mentally slapped herself for blabbing again. "Skipping out to say hello…"

Another awkward silence.

"Complicated stuff that – blue boxes… Yah…" the Doctor nodded uncomfortably, not quite sure of what to say and still recovering from the small flush of embarrassment that had taken over him at the words 'cute guy'. "_Anyway_, moving on, hello! We haven't introduced ourselves yet. How terribly rude of me! Introductions: I'm the Doctor and this is Rose," The blonde waved and smiled. "and that's Donna." Donna repeated the motion.

"Doctor _who_?" Olive persisted inquisitively.

"Just the Doctor!" the man called 'the Doctor'

"Right, so if I saw you in the street and you robbed my purse, I'd call you 'the Doctor' and go after you, getting another restraining order for beating you up."

"Yep!" the Doctor replied, fairly intrigued.

Olive stared deep into his eyes, searching for the essence that Ned had when he was hiding something, but she soon felt the need to tear her eyes away as she somehow couldn't stand the depth of those dark chocolate orbs of his…

"And you are?"

"Me? Oh, I'm Olive!"

"So your friends over there: I've met Emerson and Charlotte was it? But whose the other one."

"Oh that's Ned, I call her Chuck – suits her better. They're… together," Olive sighed at the latter, but blabbered onwards. "Emerson – he's the P.I around here, Digby's Ned's Golden Retriever – older than he looks and Chuck – wait til you hear about her, she 's got _all_ the good juice, and she even faked her own--" At that point, Olive stopped and clamped her mouth shut.

_Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! _Olive cursed psychologically. _She _was supposed to be asking the questions and getting answers, not the other way round! She was going to give far too much away at the rate she was going.

They stared at her intently, but realised that Olive (hopefully) wasn't going to spill any beans and clumsily relaxed, examining the menus.

"So, since we're here, what are you gonna 'ave?" Rose asked, happy to break the tension.

"I'll just be, um… over there," Olive scuttled off quickly, muttering furiously under her breath. The trio shrugged at each other

"The _Chocolate Satin _sounds gorgeous," Donna said, scanning through the different options. "What do you think?"

"Anything with chocolate's a girls' best friend!" Rose laughed. "Though, the _Kiwi_ cup-pie sounds bit exotic – might try tha--"

"OH, I LOVE THIS PLACE!" the Doctor exclaimed happily, a grin erupting and stretching from ear to ear.

"What is it now?" Donna shrieked in annoyance.

"Look at this!"

"They do banana pie! BANANA! That is just _brilliant_! Of all the places in America, we land in place where's there's a pie-shaped eatery that bakes pies called the Pie Hole that supplies _banana pie!_ I don't know about you two, but I call that destiny!"

"Look at yourself! You're like a five-year old on Christmas mornin'," Rose chimed in.

"Olive?" the Doctor called out, causing the waitress to jump up in surprise from her secretive huddle with the newly kind-of-introduced Emerson, Ned and Chuck. "I think we're ready to order!"

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	5. Chapter 4 Getting Down to Business

**A/N:- For once in my life, I don't know what to say!! Except for… Sorry if I forget the Americanisms and put 'trainers' instead of 'sneakers'.**

**THANKS SOOO MUCH FOR YOUR GROOVY REVIEWS!!  
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**So with no further ado, READ ON FAITHFUL CHUMS&CHUMETTES! =D**

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Chapter Four – Getting Down to Business

"So you're trying to say that that the victim was strangled to death by a pair of laces and was found barefoot at the scene of the crime, because the killer stole their shoes?" Ned double-checked, with a small frown as his eyebrows knitted together.

"Hell no," Emerson stated candidly. "I'm not '_trying' _to say anything: I'm saying that the victim _was_ found barefoot at the crime scene and _was_ strangled to death, coinciding with the fact that his pair of sneakers _was_, in fact, _stolen_. His name's Paris."

Ned wiped the table absent-mindedly, still listening to Emerson and the new murder case. "That's a lot of 'was'es."

"Was he French?" Chuck asked spontaneously.

"No, back to business, I say we go down to the morgue and then get you, Pie-Man," He jabbed a finger in Ned's direction. "... to do your magic finger stunt and then, we decide what to do next."

"Isn't that a bit irrational - killing somebody for a pair of sneakers?" Chuck piped-up, immediately feeling sorry for the dead victim.

"They weren't just any trainers: they were Jacob Deflector's _Deflectors_ trainers."

"I've heard about them!" Olive interrupted, squeezing her petite self in-between Chuck and Emerson. "They're doing a Trainer Exhibition this afternoon in Muse Museum, in honour of the creation of them."

"They're very comfortable," Emerson assured impassively and wriggled his blue and red clad feet beneath the main counter, to prove his point. "I should know, I've got a pair."

"How?" Chuck interceded. "I thought they were only coming out today and you'd have to damn rich to afford a pair – even if you did get your name down on the waiting list."

"I have my connections…" Emerson replied smugly.

The facts were these: on the agreement of finding the murderer of Lady Elisabeth du Elisabeth's son, Lady Elisabeth Du Elisabeth following her previous encounter with a Private Investigator that ended up in tears, mud and a dictionary, could not trust this Private Investigator, whom happened shared his surname with a fish. She, therefore, refused to pay the fees in advance, so to secure the deal and in exchange for a pair of the desired Jacob Deflector's _Deflectors_ to be promised and given, Emerson Cod agreed to solve the case as fast as he could and receive payment afterwards.

"So, what's the dig?" Olive asked casually.

"Don't you have some serving to do?" Emerson retorted with a sigh. "I'm sure Ned won't be happy if them British folk run off complaining about the bad service 'round here."

"OH I LOVE THIS PLACE!"yelped the male voice that belonged to the British, talkative, hyper man whose name they were unaware of.

Olive grinned and nodded at the words, as if to prove her point. All four of them craned their necks around to see the (assumed) tourists nattering away to each other and the man practically jumping up and down. Emerson, to his great disdain, was made to shut his pie hole – unable to find the correct words to shoo his commonly known 'Itty Bitty' away.

"They seem happy!" Chuck smiled in approval at Olive.

For the next couple of interrupted seconds, Olive managed to somehow catch-up with the latest juice and was able to now know, due to her experience as part-time P.I. in training, that some hot guy had been murdered by a pair of shoelaces and Emerson had been sent to solve the case. Emerson grunted at Olive's happiness, as he approved of her to help when _needed_, mentally suffering over the fact that the money would presently need to be split 25-25-25-25 instead 40-40-20, like it should be with one _40_ going to him. Life was tough for Emerson...

The 38th uninterrupted second past, when the waitress by the name of Olive Snook was called for and reluctantly departed from the group huddle, to tend to the needs of the three happy customers by the name of Rose, Donna and… as far as Olive knew, 'The Doctor'.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Yuoosharyugnowanffom?" the Doctor exclaimed, mouth still full of banana cream pie – he gulped down the sweet creamy mouthful and wiped his mouth quickly, repeating himself. "You sure you don't want some? No? Suit yourself, this is _delicious!"_

Donna and Rose stared in shock and awe at the Time Lord, who was happily_ stuffing_ himself with the sweet golden pastry, gobbling down the food faster than you could say, _Face of Boe_. The crumbs spilled down his full mouth as he filled himself with the delicious filling and he looked like a two-year old toddler who'd just learned how to feed himself rather than a 900-year-old Time Lord, who could travel Time and Space with the whiz of a button!

Smiling sweetly, Chuck set down the two cup-pies one of which a _Chocolate Satin _and the other an exotic _Kiwi _flavour.

Chuck stared awkwardly at the Doctor and then smiled at the blonde and the redhead.

"I'm guessing someone likes banana!" she chuckled cheerfully.

"_Likes?_" Donna said, raising her eyebrows at the Time Lord. "That doesn't _even_ describe it."

"You don't know the 'alf of it!" Rose joined in, as Chuck stared ever more at the Doctor, probably as fascinated at his appetite as they were. Rose stabbed the fork into the pie and scooped up a piece. "So where's Olive?"

"Oh, she's just, err…" Chuck twisted her head around but found no sign of her, then spotted her crouched behind the counter and feeding Pigby scraps – who had one way or another clambered down from Olive's apartment and made its way to the kitchen… Hmm. "Feeding Pigby – he's Olive's pet pig!"

Donna shot a look at the Doctor as she tucked into the pie, contemplated an amusing image in her head of the Doctor as a pig and smiled pensively, shaking the thought bubble away. Belching, the Doctor removed the fork from his mouth, shoved the already empty dish out the way, and stared around at the three pairs of clearly amused eyes in front of him. He straightened his tie and ran a quick hand through his hair, just to check that everything was in order but still managed to find all attention focused on him.

"WHAT?!"

Chuck walked off giggling to herself, while Rose shook her head and shielded her face with a mop of hair_, _concealing a laugh and Donna stared wide-eyed at him.

"Nothing, just… _nothing_…" she said.

"Is there something on my face that I should know about?"

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Cheapskate..." Rose muttered under her breath, searching her pockets for loose cash.

"He was like this at me wedding!" Donna added huffily, also rootling around for some money.

Collecting the expenses from two not very happy companions, the Doctor guiltily gathered their compilation of coins and five-pound notes and sauntered up to the main counter to pay their bill. Of course, this was America and English sterling pounds wasn't exactly the coprrect currency but a quick whiz from his Sonic Screwdriver soon solved that problem. Smiling his own handiwork, he protectively clutched the newly-made American dollars and quarters in his hands and looked around for a sign of Ned, Chuck, Emerson or Olive.

All four of them were hunched together in some sorts of group circle in the kitchen area, muttering furiously to themselves. The Pie Maker by the name of Ned and the girl named Chuck were _still_ avoiding each other's touch, the Doctor could tell, from his oh-so clever sixth… no seventh Time Lord sense. Hmm, he couldn't put his finger on it but there was something not quite right about that couple. He'd soon find that out too, using his excellent charm and persuasion skills he'd picked up as a Time Lord.

"_What charm and persuasion skills?"_a voice challenged in his mind. Great, now he was talking to himself. The Doctor sighed and drummed his spare fingers along to a gentle rhythm, on the marble tabletop, until he found another focus for his attention.

Eyeing the companions not so far down, the Doctor watched as Rose and Donna exchanged laughs and took it in turns to yap away.'Gossiping' they called it. He called it _women. _He rolled his eyes but suddenly frowned. They were probably talking about him too! Oh, how he missed the days when his companions would actually respect him. Eager to know more and planning a whole I-accidentally-on-purpose-happened-to-eavesdrop-on-your-girly-conversation situation, the Doctor propped himself up on a neighbouring stool and tested his hearing skills, seeing if he could hear their conversation.

However, what he heard was not the familiar voices of Rose or Donna, but the clear non-nonsense voice of Private Investigator, Emerson Cod.

"Nuh-uh. A dumb idea is a dumb idea, Itty Bitty is staying right here – and I say, that me and Ned go to--"

"How about me?" Chuck piped up.

Emerson sighed.

"Fine - me, Ned _and _dead girl," He shot a sideward glance at Chuck, who smiled brightly back at him and the Doctor frowned vaguely, finding the situation rather odd – even for him. The Doctor assumed that Emerson was talking about 'Chuck', but of all nicknames why _dead girl_. She was clearly alive! Unless…. No, no, he'd have sensed if she was of alien origin and what was he thinking, another _Captain Jack_! Why was he getting worked up? It was probably some inside joke, but a little gut instinct told him that there was a lot more to it than an 'inside joke'…

"We go dig up the dirt on little _Paris du Elisabeth_ and 'analyse' his body at the morgue, while you," he pointed at Olive. "Stay here and guard the Pie Hole."

"For what?"

"Murderers – you see any suspicious killers skulking about, scream for your life and I'll come to collect my reward money - I mean I'll come to _rescue _you. Anyway, back to --"

"But I'm your Itty Bitty!" Olive protested.

"And?"

"Don't I need to be in on the action?" Olive modelled a gun with her fingers and mimicked being on the look out, 'gun' cocked up in a shooting gesture. "You know, Itty Bitty as in - back-up, look-out, distraction, interrogator?!" Nobody seemed to be getting her flow. "Oh come on guys! Ned? Chuck?"

"Sorry, Olive, I'm with Emerson on this one," Chuck surrendered sheepishly. Ned nodded and Olive scowled.

"So, as _I _was saying, before I was rudely interrupted by a dumb idea," Emerson threw a hard look at Olive who shot him back a scarier one. "According to this newspaper, people are going crazy for these sneakers, putting themselves down on as many waiting lists as they can find and when I say crazy, I mean crazy as in bad crazy, mob crazy, _murderous _crazy."

"Let me get this straight – are you thinking what I'm thinking, because I'm thinking that you think that the killer is a 'murderous crazy' individual with a serious sneaker-obsession that's taken his obsession too far?" Ned said, running the ideas through his head.

These people had a point and they had some pretty good theories, the Doctor deduced happily. They weren't too bad, compared to him anyway.

"That's _exactly_ what I'm thinking, so I say, if our infamous killer is as dumb as I think he is – he's gonna be idiotic enough to be walking around in broad daylight showing off his _Deflectors_. And then _BANG_, I get my reward money."

The Doctor frowned again; he wasn't particularly fond of the fact that they were solving somebody's murder all to earn some extra cash and have something to put in their pockets. In his opinion, it wasn't fair to make a profit on somebody's death and treat death like some gamble over money. That was the reason why he ran about saving planets, people and civilisations, never stopping to let people make a fuss of him and offer him gifts and money. He just did it for the sake of saving people, because it felt good.

"You mean _our _reward money," Chuck reminded, raising an eyebrow and subconsciously showing off her brightly coloured red bow in her hair.

Emerson grunted, "Yeah, yeah - whatever."

"Very clever indeed!" the Doctor suddenly found himself exclaiming. "It was Emerson, wasn't it?"

Emerson grunted something that sounded a lot like, "Yeah."

"How long have you been listening?" Ned asked the man in the tan coat suspiciously, as all four of them jumped around to see the Doctor who was as energetic and unpredictable as ever.

"Long enough," the Doctor replied innocuously.

"You don't happen to work for the Daily Dynamite, do you?" Ned asked precariously.

The Doctor stared at him, clearly full of bewilderment.

"I'll take that as a no," nodded Ned.

At this point Emerson was growing more and more suspicious of this young man with the mysterious dark brown eyes. Straightening his jacket and flashing his sneakers as he went, Emerson strode purposefully forward and placed both hands on the counter-table, his large figure obscuring the Doctor's view.

"Tell me everything you know," he demanded steadily from the man – secretly worried for his well-being as a Private Investigator and the safety of Ned's secret.

At this instant, Rose and Donna were fully aware of the situation precisely eight and a half metres from them and had promptly gathered to surround the Doctor, sensing that the Doctor was inadvertently looking for trouble.

"Weeeell, for starters, I know that… there's a hand on the end of my arms, I've got two eyes, a nose, and a mouth – a very big loud mouth, at that and I also happen to know that I--"

"_Doctor…" _the two women warned him cautiously, not wanting the Doctor to start up a fight.

"Look, I don't need no funny busine--"

"Oh just cut the crap and tell him what you heard!" Olive sighed breezily to the Doctor, walking past with a cloth and going over to clear up the trio's mess.

"I heard everything," the Doctor gave in quickly, before launching into a fully flung explanation. When I say I heard everything – I mean… justhappenedtoaccidentally onpurposelistenintoyourconversationeventhoughIhadnointentiontointrudeandIswearallIknowisthat… a man called Paris was murdered and something to do with Jacob Deflector's_ Deflectors_ trainers – that's sneakers, in English."

"Thank you," Emerson nodded politely.

"Judging by the unimpressed expression on your face, I take it you _don't_ want me to stick my big honker of a nose in and let all three of us assist you on your investigation?" the Doctor babbled, gesturing to Rose and Donna.

"We're very good at investigating," Rose added.

"And spying on people!" Donna supplemented.

"So what dya say?" the Doctor beamed broadly. "You don't have to worry about payment by the way, I strongly disagree using someone's death as an excuse to make money – not trying to offend you in any way of course. So, would you mind us doing some snooping along with you?"

Emerson pretended to ponder for a moment.

"Hmm… Let me think," He looked from Ned (who was busy staring into space), to Chuck (who was busy looking at Ned), to his Itty Olive (who was grumpily clearing up) and then looked back to the Doctor, with a stern expression. "No."

"Absolutely, positively, one-hundred and ten percent sure?" the Doctor persisted hopefully.

"Hell, yeah. Look, I'm sorry to disappoint, but you look like nice folk – so instead of turning into some certain _Norwegians_ and getting your hands dirty, why don't you skip off and view the views like good little tourists," Emerson explained sweetly, a forced smile gracing his face. He gritted his teeth. "Now shoo."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Sorry about Emerson," Chuck uttered shamefacedly, as she dropped the change into the Doctor's palm. "He doesn't like people… meddling with his investigations."

"I'll say…" Olive muttered, joining Chuck's side.

"Nah, it's alright," the Doctor smiled – not put down by any of this and just enjoying the moments. "We understand completely!"

"We'll see you again soon, yeah?" Donna said, smiling at the pair of them.

"Come again, anytime!" Chuck reassured.

"The food was _gorgeous_; tell the boys I said thanks!" Rose said cheerily, following the Doctor and Donna's lead out the front door.

They each gave a final wave and bout of thank yous, before properly exiting the Pie Hole altogether. Stepping into an abrupt halt, the Doctor spun around on the balls of his feet, striding back _into _the Pie Hole – a sudden wave of inspiration blowing him full in the head.

"Sorry to bother you again, but you don't happen to have that newspaper again, do you?" the Doctor boomed optimistically, re-entering the eatery to eveyrone's surprise.

"What are you up to?" Rose hissed.

"You'll see!"

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Hiding in the abandoned _Best Friends Incorporated_ lobby, Rickoji cackled and threw his green and purple-spotted arms into the air, diving into his collection of shoes– that varied from the poor unknown brands like _Aihfdihge _clogs to the well-known infamous pairsof _Converse_.

His large purple tennis-ball sized eyes suddenly bulged as a device that looked suspiciously like an alien computer bleeped and Rickoji clapped his hands in determination.

"AAAH, a new brand is on the market – I MUST COLLECT!" Rickoji guffawed wildly.

More shoes. More shoes. He needed more shoes – yes, he already collected (technically, stolen) three-hundred and fifty two pairs from all across the galaxy, but he could never have enough. Ever since he'd broke the rules and stared into the heart of the _Colour of Samba, _he'd been become _fixated _and _craved _shoes. All shoes, any shoes: heels, trainers, clogs, clogs, ANYTHING!

With a press of a button, on his watch, a bright blue teleportation light collected Rickoji and sent him hurtling to collect his next prize…

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

**A/N: - MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Now this is where the fun begins! Hope you like.**

**Ooh and…**

**Disclaimer: DOCTOR WHO AND PUSHING DAISIES DON'T BELONG TO ME! The BBC and ABC get full credit, but if you ever see an alien called Rickoji appear on screen, you'll know that… HE'S MINE! HEEHAW. **

**Reviews are loved! =D =D =D =D =D**


	6. Chapter 5 Fade Away and Radiate

**A/N: - Heya, I'm back again! HEHEHEHE! Did anyone see that fabby comedy type Doctor Who thing on John Barrowman's Tonight's The Night? (I only watched it cuz I wanted to make a mock how cheesy the HSM pe****rformance was… No offence to HSM lovers!) The Doctor Who thing was funny – well to me anyway! Sorry people, if I've got Olive's age wrong because I just put down the only information I could find about Olive's age: **_**mid thirties**_**. **

**Anyway, without further ado, READ ON TA FAITHFUL CHUMS AND CHUMMETTES!**

**Disclaimer: The aliens have officially landed and invaded Earth, giving me the assets and ownership to **_**both**_** Pushing Daisies and Doctor Who. *sighs dramatically* In plain English, this translates as… no… Sadly. Oh and the title of this chapter doesn't belong to me either – it's Blondie's. What? I got stuck!**

**HAPPY READING!**

**=D**

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Chapter Five – Fade Away and Radiate

"They were nice," Chuck said, as optimistic as ever, but inclined her head and contemplated the facts. "Though a bit strange…"

"There's something not quite right about them British folk," Emerson said, narrowing his eyes as his eyes traced the Doctor, Donna and Rose as they piled out the Pie Hole (again), but this time, newly accompanied by a newspaper.

"It's like the same 'not quite' right, when you're seven-years-old and you hear 'Hansel and Gretel' for the first time," Ned agreed, idly removing his apron and shuffling around the counter to join the rest of them in front of the counter. "You know it's 'not quite right' when the father dumps Hansel and Gretel in the forest, it's 'not quite right' when the twins suddenly stumbles across a house made of candy, and you definitely know it's 'not quite right' when they listen to an old lady with a green face and a wart on her nose. I never did like that fairytale – I kept dreaming that it was my dad that left me in the forest and the witch was that scary woman with the cats next door."

Emerson pursed his lips and muttered something inaudible under his breath and other than that, there was an uncomfortable silence plaguing the Pie Hole.

"Why is it so breezy in here?" Chuck asked suddenly, trying to wipe the goosebumps off her cold bare arms.

Olive indicated the widely open backdoor, as she stepped back from her cleaning position behind the counter, allowing a clear view of the alley. At this moment, Olive Snook was thirty-five years, thirty-four weeks, five days, seventeen hours and twenty-two minutes exactly and the facts were these: her mind was far, far away.

She was drifting in the reality, where the harsh cold-hearted green of jealousy had taken over and Chuck had not 'faked' her own death, but was dead full-stop. Adjoined by the realism impracticality, that Ned was in love with her and there were no secrets in the world…

So forth, the waitress merely shrugged at the peculiar grinding noise that whipped up an impulsive wind, sending rolls of cling film and outside leaves flying about – still idly trapped in her distant (reality-u_n_friendly) daydreams.

"It's probably that blue box fading away or something," Olive sighed, totally unimpressed and impassive.

However, the other three sets of curious eyes were not fixated on Olive, but on the inexplicable remarkable marvel of the certain blue 'Police Call' box, otherwise dubbed TARDIS, churn its engines and fade out of existence – a long brown trench coat disappearing through the navy door. A marvel that caused even Private Investigator, specialist in knitting and part-time popup book author, Emerson Cod to drop his jaw and gawp in shock. (Only to swiftly replant his impassive expression and close his jaw – trying to look as convincingly unmoved as possible.)

Snapping back into reality, faster than Ned's finger could reawaken the dead, Olive swivelled her head round just in time to see a flash of blue vanish. She craned her head back round and stared, completely horrified, at Ned, Chuck and Ned in disbelief.

Olive swore loudly, "I did _not_ just miss a tiny blue box fade away."

"Yeah," Ned squeaked.

"The same blue box that I've been trying to prove real all day and scared a customer away with?!"

"Would it help if I told you the truth hurts?"

"No. If anyone needs me, I'll be with the whiskey."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Back in the infinite depths of the TARDIS, the Doctor was back at the controls, throwing a lever here and twiddling a dial over there, while Donna and Rose hovered around him – just watching.

"What does _that_ button do?" Donna asked randomly, pointing at a big conspicuous green button on the console.

"That one?" The Doctor double-checked, signalling the same button.

"Yes, that one!" Donna cried impatiently.

"That harmless little green button stabilises the general jugular wavering gyroscopic pattern of the infrastructural bimagnotistic flux defragmentation system."

Rose gawped at him blankly, "You what?"

"In other words…" the Doctor said, pausing. "I have absolutely no idea, whatsoever!" A grin suddenly emerged on his face and he nodded his head in Donna's direction. "Why don't you press it?"

"What, _me_?" Donna said in confusion, pointing at herself.

"Yep!"

"Doctor, are you _sure_ this is safe?" Rose warned him.

"It's as safe as two houses – I'm one hundred percent sure. Weeeell, ninety-nine point nine percent to be on the safe side, but when I say ninety-nine point nine I mean ninety-nine per--"

"I'm gonna do it," Donna alerted them promptly, hand hovering over the button.

"Go on!" the Doctor chirped enthusiastically. "A lil' button pressing won't hurt!"

"You are so dead if weeeeeeeeeeeee---" Rose shrieked as the TARDIS jerked to a halt, before zooming forward and causing all three passengers to topple onto the floor. Donna has pressed the button. Rose leapt up off the floor and sighed. "… almost get killed."

"Aah! So that's the accelerator!" the Doctor cried out happily, picking himself off the floor. "I always wondered where that was!"

Donna jumped back onto her feet, wiped the dust from her trousers and stormed (well, staggered, in this case) over to the Doctor and slapped him hard on the arm.

"Safe as two houses, you said," Donna put on a low voice. "It won't hurt' you said. I'll show _you_ who's going to be hurt. I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

The Doctor winced and rubbed his arm, "Where did you learn that from?"

"Taekwondo class," Donna breathed.

"That explains a lot," the Doctor murmured but shut up, when a glare was shot at him. "Anyyyway, moving on, now we can move the TARDIS quicker!"

"Why d'you have to moves the TARDIS anyway?" Rose yelled over the sound of the Time Rotor, as the Time Machine lurched to one side and she clung onto the console for support. The ship swayed again and Donna grabbed hold of the Time Lord's arm vigorously. "It's not like anyone will see it."

"You'd be surprised. The name Olive Snook ring any bells?" the Doctor tested her, an eyebrow arched.

"Good point."

"Besides, I was hoping we could have a look at _this_," he unravelled the newspaper from his trench coat pocket and chucked it at Rose, who caught it skilfully.

Rose skimmed the headline and grinned with her tongue between her teeth, "Are you suggesting that we go snooping?"

"I'll have you know Rose Tyler that highly prestigious Time Lords do _not_ snoop!"

"_Murder Mocks Muse Museum, Missing Deflectors Devastation,_" Donna read aloud, nudging Rose along the console jump seat, as she sat herself down.

"Read the next bit," the Doctor cued, flicking a couple of switches to prevent the TARDIS from speeding and jolting.

The TARDIS's interior was basked in silence, for the next several minutes, as Donna and Rose's eyes intently read the newspaper's headline story. A lot of alliteration and a _Paris du Elisabeth_ later, the companions' raised their heads and both grimaced slightly. Then Rose rolled her eyes at the predictability of the Doctor's choice and Donna grinned, knowing what was coming next.

"A murder investigation?" Donna said shrewdly, reassessing the situation.

"Yes and no… We're not doing it for the money! Any complaints? No? Good!" the Doctor babbled on, full steam ahead. "So, according to another reliable source this happens not to be a newspaper, a boy in his twenties, Paris du Elisabeth, gets murdered in the locker room of Muse Museum and the victims' shoes were stolen and was strangled by a set of shoelaces. Terrible, yes, but rather strange. The trainers, remind me to call 'em sneakers here, are called _Deflectors_ and ostensibly, they're only coming out today but young Paris had his connections and got them early. I say, we do a little investigating of our own," The Doctor pondered a thought and added quickly. "Avoiding any and all Private Investigators, on the way, including one Emerson Cod, in particular.

Rose laughed and cocked up an eyebrow.

"Now I call that snooping."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Annabelle Riley unenthusiastically peeled back the golden glass doors of the_ Muse Museum_ and allowed the crowd to freely flood in. Some could've thundered about to press their sticky soiled fingers onto the glass and gawp absorbedly at famous people's different shoes, others could've stormed into the café to demand a serving of _Betty Blip's Bolognese_. However, every single eager visitor ran, screaming and shouting, every man or woman fighting for his or herself to the 'Desk of Waiting' to scribble their names down onto the waiting list for an infamous pair of Jacob Deflector's _Deflectors_.

However, during the commotion of the screaming impatient crowd, nobody noticed the ray of blue light that frazzled the air, as Rickoji, the green and purple spotted alien, materialised into view. Shooting maniacal but cautious looks around the area, Rickoji sighed to find everybody too engrossed in their own lives and the little alien discreetly scuttled off into the wide array of feet…

The alien giggled.

…_and shoes galore…_

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"I still can't find a reasonably reasonable reason as to why I can't follow you to the morgue and why Chuck _can_," Olive said openly, clambering out of Ned's car onto the green, green grass and buttressing herself upright on two skinny elbows, balancing on the open car window.

She tipped to the side a little, as her barely-sober state of mind overcame her with wooziness and the inevitable craving for more alcoholic beverages – the after effect of missing a blue box and a cute guy vanish from view.

"Believe me, Itty Bitty; dead girl wouldn't be coming with us either if I had _my_ way," Emerson muttered, as he glared at the Pie Maker – eyes full of accusation, and received a sheepish glance and blush.

"I'm still Itty Bitty?" Olive squealed joyfully, interrupting Emerson's moment of allegation.

Emerson grumbled, muttering with a tone full of discomfiture, "Yeah, yeah, yeah – whatever. You gonna stand there yapping all day?"

He indicated the waitress in the green, as the grass behind her, dress's position and Olive immediately jumped up.

She was just about to wander off through the wrought black iron gates and up the carefully paved path to ring Aunts Lily and Vivian's doorbell, when a voice called her back.

"Pie?" Chuck prompted Olive with a smile, holding up a large white box that wafted out the sweet, heart-warming aroma of freshly baked pies. Olive sucked the wonderful smell in, which bore the smallest lingering aroma of the Pie Maker, and gratefully let the box drop into her tiny hands.

"I'm still in on the investigation, right?" Olive reaffirmed, eyes bulging out hopefully at Chuck.

Ignoring the look of nervousness from Ned and the incoherent mumble from Emerson, Chuck grinned, "Yeah, course you are. Remember: Vivian's is the triple blueberry…"

"Enhanced with the essence juicy flavourful apples," Ned inserted.

"My left-left or your left-left?" Olive checked, ever so slightly confused.

"My left-left and Lily's is on the right, my right, and it's the Kahlua cream cheese…"

Ned slid into view again and said, "Flavour improved throughout with velvety cream cheese pie in a chocolate cookie crust – best eaten with a glass of warmed fresh semi-skimmed milk."

"It should last them a couple of meals," Chuck said smiling, and supplemented hurriedly in a scarcely audible whisper, "And the additional ingredients should make them happier."

"You done discussing pie, already?" Emerson declared edgily, "We're wasting precious time here people, when we could be earning some cash. Talking ain't gonna pay my bills."

Smiling brightly, carefully proficient to conceal the surge of jealousy rushing through her at that very second as Ned stared lovingly into Chuck's big brown eyes, Olive carried the two heavy boxes and waved after the old brown car as its engines fired up and with a loud growl, sped off into the distance.

"Remember to feed Digby!" Ned yelled back, as a reminder, out the car's window. He paused, before adding, "And Pigby!"

A huge heavy white box full of pie barely supported by her small figures, Olive slowly traipsed up the stone trail and made her way up to the door of the sisters' residence. Pressing the doorbell until it chimed out a loud prominent jingle, Olive took a deep breath and took the doorbell's ring as a signal to mentally shut the door in her brain that told her to tell Aunt Lily and Vivian the whole truth about Vivian's niece and lily's daughter alive-not-dead status.

"Who the hell is it? I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it!" Aunt Lily barked in greeting, gun posed professionally in hand and crimson red eye patch still shielding her right eye.

Olive remembered Lily's inability to see the full picture, due to 'impaired' vision of her right eye and so forth, Olive shifted to the side. Lily soon noticed who it was and slackened her grip on the long gun.

"Oh it's you, come in," Lily jabbed at the box with her gun daringly, which Olive was currently in possession of, before allowing leighway for Olive to pass through. "What's that?"

"Pie! Ch—," Olive corrected herself quickly, as Lily eyed the blonde suspiciously. "_Ned_ baked it."

"Sure…"

"Who is it?" Vivian cooed in her usual selfless tone.

"It's Snook," Vivian replied gruffly, "It looks like bushy-brow Beaver Boy's made us pie."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

**A/N: - Not as long a chapter as I'd planned, but I've had a sudden blast of writers' block, received some prank calls**** from anonymous creepy perved-up weirdos, had a busy past three days of holiday and have been far too hyper to concentrate on anything! Anyway, just on a side note, there won't be more of Aunts Lily or Vivian because there was, it would only make the plot more confusing.**

**And I was only sure that I heard Emerson call Chuck 'dead girl' in front of Olive, like once, so I just assumed that Olive wouldn't have caught anything on and thought that it had been a nickname based on Chuck faking her death. Sorry if I'm wrong though! **

**Hope you liked, and the next chapter should be up fairly soon considering I've got a whole week off! **

**Reviews/feedback of all and ANY kind are appreciated a LOT! **

=D =D =D =D =D


	7. Chapter 6 Waking Up the Dead

**A/N:-****Hey, just to let you people know, I've re-written/re-done the prologue for this story, so I'd like it if you checked it out and tell me what you think, but you ****don't****have to ****read ****it! HEHE! **

**Hope you like!**

**=D =D =D =D =D**

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Chapter Six - Waking Up the Dead

Climbing out of the car after Private Investigator, Emerson Cod, and childhood sweetheart, Ned, Chuck quickly wrapped the pink shawl around her hair and slid on a pair of tinted black sunglasses. This precaution was to conceal her true identity of the once, deceased and murdered 'Lonely Tourist Charlotte Charles', who was, in reality, due to one magic finger – alive _again_. But only few could know of this of this fact, the few being the money-loving, Emerson Cod, and the kind-hearted, Ned. The exclusions of this treaty _included_ the likes of one broken hearted Olive Snook and one morgue-warden Coroner.

Each individual was deep in thought – Emerson thinking of the day when his daughter, Penny, would find him, Ned thinking of the many secrets he held and the many hidden from him, Chuck thinking of the day when her 'Aunt' Lily and Aunt Vivian would discover her existence – as they walked.

"Maybe it's just me, but my gut instinct is telling me that there's something else in the air, a storm coming – a metaphorical storm. It's like when you see a play in a theatre, you get that gut instinct feeling when you _know_ something is going to happen, but you don't know what it is and when it hits you – you're not prepared for the impact."

"You know what I think? I think that it may- _be_, Ned, that your _gut _is telling you that you shouldn't have skipped breakfast," Emerson quipped. "_And_ lunch."

"Three British tourists, who don't look or seem like tourists at all, come into _my_ Pie Hole and a man-who-will-not-tell-anybody-his-name makes Olive faint. Then when Olive wakes up, he orders banana pie and asks if he can help us with our investigation. Not long after that, a strangely unfamiliar blue box disappears from the Pie Hole's back alley.

It wasn't really an 'eat breakfast and lunch' day, for me," Ned sighed, "Besides that man in the trench coat kept giving me funny looks."

"It was for me," contradicted Emerson genially.

"And me!" Chuck agreed, but her smile drooped into a concerned frown. "What d'you mean 'funny looks'?"

The Pie Maker explained.

The facts were these: unknown to the mysterious Time Lord and his company, whilst quietly listening to the conversations discussed between tourists and Pie Holers, Ned noticed that he was being watched, by the dubbed 'tourist' and 'doctor' in the tan-brown trench coat. Being watched was not a very comfortable feeling for the Pie Maker. So when discovered that a sideward glance was stolen each time the Pie Maker sought comfort from the girl named Chuck, by an affectionate gaze, 'air touching' or simple body language, Ned grew cautious…

"So he knows that you can do 'it' with the finger?" Emerson checked.

"No."

"So he doesn't know?" Chuck offered.

"No."

"This ain't making any sense," grunted Emerson.

Ned sighed and took a deep breath, "I don't know - I mean… I'm not sure. Maybe, I'm just overreacting."

"You better well, 'cos I don't want no sniffy meddlesome British tourists knocking on my door," Emerson muttered.

The hot sun beat down on their backs as the three Private Investigators walked up the hard grey steps, as they made their way into the City Morgue.

Half a mile west and precisely two point one-seven seconds later, the ancient drumming of the ancient Time Machine sounded and the stylish blue 'Police' box materialised onto the freshly cut 'Do Not Trespass' grass of the city park – angering one irritated and exasperated park-keeper.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Which door is it?" Ned mumbled to himself, switching his gaze from the grey door to the left to the grey door on the right.

"Is it through that door?" Emerson asked the Coroner impatiently, pointing at the door on the Coroner's left.

"Perhaps…" the Coroner said dully and gently inclined his head to one side, as he stood behind his desk – stony faced.

"How 'bout that one?" Emerson jabbed another impatient finger at the door to the Coroner's right.

"Maybe…"

"Just tell me which door that teenager's in, will you?!"

"Shh - the dead are _resting_."

Chuck quickly stepped in and beamed brightly at the pokerfaced Coroner, "Hi! It's a nice place you've got here, you know!"

"Mmm-hmmm," the Coroner said suspiciously, narrowing his beetle black eyes.

"No, really! The yellow walls bring out the colour of, err, your white coat!"

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Would you mind telling us which is the right door?" Chuck asked sweetly.

The Coroner lifted an arm and jerked it back to face the door on his right.

"Thank you," she replied gratefully and muttered back to the boys smugly, "See, all you needed was a bit of sweet talk!"

Emerson mumbled something and marched proudly towards the door on his left, but the Coroner's right, but a long white-clad arm blocked his way and a hand opened up. The Coroner coughed. Grunting, Emerson Cod dug deep into his pockets, produced some dollar bills and slapped them reluctantly into the man's outstretched hand. The Private Investigator was used to receiving money, _not_ the other way around. The Coroner immediately withdrew and allowed them to pass.

"Hang on a minute…" Emerson cooed disbelievingly, as he opened the door and came face to face with a cupboard full of cleaning utensils. "This ain't no morgue room."

"You ain't gonna find any dead bodies in a storage cupboard," the Coroner stated and popped the cash into a pocket.

"You lied to us!" Ned said, shocked.

"..."

"No he didn't," Chuck exclaimed. "He meant as in direction right! So, technically speaking, he was _right_."

Emerson, Ned and Chuck headed for the other door, but were stopped once more by a parallel-outstretched arm.

"Will ten bucks be enough?" growled Emerson disdainfully and handed over the forcibly given money.

"Mmm-hmmm."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Why exactly are we going to a _morgue_?" Rose asked curiously, stepping out of the TARDIS and jumping onto the grass. "It's a bit… morbid."

"Clues!" the Doctor chirped.

"Clues…" Donna repeated deprecatingly. "How are we gonna do that? Unless, we're going to _wake up the dead_ and ask this Paris bloke who killed 'im."

"Doctor," Rose chimed in, "I don't think we should've landed here."

"What makes you say that?"

"Him." Donna concluded.

"Can't you read?" the park keeper yelled suddenly, squinting his eyes in the sunlight and pointing a porky finger at the signpost in the grass, as he waddled towards them. He had a strong American accent.

"Me?" the Doctor exclaimed and beamed brightly, glancing at the sign painted on in large red sloppily written words. "'Course I can! And that – that signs says… _do not trespass_. Do nor trespass… Do… Not… Trespass… Aah. Aah." The Doctor grimaced. "You're going to ask me if this is my blue box, aren't you?"

"I sure am."

"And then, you're gonna arrest me and my friends?"

"Nope, just you."

"Just to clarify – will you be _escorting_ the blue box anywhere any time soon?" the Doctor asked nonchalantly.

"Nah," the park keeper explained, obviously oblivious to the Doctor's motive. "I'll get the Traffic Police to haul it away in the evening - around six. So if you'd just come forward sir, then I can take you in to the police?"

"Sure. Right. I think that'll be enough time."

"Enough time for what?"

He craned his back round to his companions. "Donna? Rose?"

"Yes?!" they cooed simultaneously.

"RUN!"

And so, the Time Lord, the shop girl and the temp ran.

Grinning like a Cheshire cat that'd just got the cream, the man called the Doctor sprinted dexterously across the green grassy forbidden plains of the park, followed closely by the girls called Rose and Donna, all pursued by one porky park keeper by the name of Ronald Reagan.

"How big is this park?" Rose groaned, grabbing the stitch in her side and wishing that she hadn't had all that delicious pie.

"By my estimation," the Doctor panted, "Excluding the pond, the forest and the skateboard park – ooh, about one and a half miles in area!"

"You're joking?!" Rose gasped, slowing down a little. _Well, on the bright side, at least, Percy the park keeper's not too athletic_, she thought to herself as she noticed the park keeper was struggling to keep up with them._._

"WHERE'RE WE GOING?" Donna yelled breathlessly to the Doctor, exactly one metre, thirty-seven centimetres and six millimetres behind him.

The Doctor solely whooped and shot her a manic grin, "We're following the wind!"

"WHAT WIND?!"

The girl with the name of a flower was just a couple of metres behind Donna, when she noticed the offending article blocking their path. "Doctor, Donna, STOP!"

"WHAT?!"

"STOP RUNNIN'! YOU'RE GONNA HIT A WALL!"

"What?"

Glaring at the huge red brick wall in front of their faces, the Time Lord quickly skidded to a halt and dragged Donna to one side and they collided into a red-faced Rose. Ronald Reagan was thirty-two years, seventeen weeks, five days, three-hundred and thirty six minutes, twelve seconds old, when he rammed face-forward into one red brick wall and thirty-two years, seventeen weeks, five days, three-hundred and thirty six minutes, twelve seconds old, when his face screwed up in shock and Ronald Reagan fell to the floor with a heavy _bump_.

"_Ouch_…" Donna hissed, conclusively.

"That has gotta hurt," Rose agreed, grimacing. "Will he be alright?"

The Doctor cringed and gingerly knelt beside the unconscious figure. He whipped out the Sonic Screwdriver, buzzed it around his body and came to a conclusion – standing up.

"He'll live."

"Doctor, you still looking for that morgue?" Donna asked.

"Yep."

"I think we've found it."

She pointed up at the huge towering grey building with the huge stone steps that loomed down on the park below. Six boldly engraved letters stood out: _MORGUE_.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Flinching slightly, Ned pulled back the sheets and revealed a young man whom had barely left his teens.

"Are those lace marks?" Chuck asked quizzically, at the skinny red throttle marks around dead Paris's pale neck.

"You bet they are," Emerson muttered and quickly turned to Ned, "Do your stuff."

Ned stuck left arm out, set his stopwatch and quickly tapped the young boy's cheek – causing pale yellow light to ripple across his flesh to awaken him.

"Who're you?" the young boy exclaimed suddenly, shooting into a sitting position.

"I'm Chuck," Chuck stated professionally and gestured Ned, who smiled weakly and Emerson, who grunted. "That's Ned and that's Emerson. We're Private Investigators."

"Hey! I know you," Paris cried out to Chuck with a grin. "You're that famous Lonely Tourist from TV!" he frowned, "Wait… If you're dead, that must mean I'm dead."

"Forty-five seconds left!" Ned warned.

"I've got forty-five seconds to live?!"

"I'm sorry," Chuck said sadly. "Any last requests?"

"Tell my mum I loved her – even though she didn't love me."

"Don't' say that…"

"Can we get back to the point already?" Emerson said flatly and strode forward, looking at Paris sternly. "D'you know who killed you?"

"Yeah, of course, I do. It was— Aaaaaaargh!" Paris du Elisabeth yelped madly, staring at his naked self and most importantly, his shoe_less _feet. "My sneakers! They're gone! My _Deflectors_: where are they?"

"Thirty." Ned put in.

"I'm afraid Mr Murderer did a runner with 'em," Emerson informed and prompted forth, "Now, you were saying, 'bout your killer…"

Paris only ignored him and grasped his soft brown curls madly, "I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT MY _DEFLECTORS!_ IF I SEE THAT MAN AGAIN, I'LL… I'LL…"

"Calm down, honey," motioned Chuck. "The sooner you tell us who did this to you, the sooner we can get your sneakers back."

"Fifteen seconds!"

"It was…" he panted, "It was one of my mother's butlers!" Paris's attention drifted for a moment. "Oh, and hello newcomers!"

Chuck and Emerson shared a glance, both frowning.

"Excuse me, hi, I'm Ned," Ned intruded quickly, "But didn't your mother have one-hundred and twenty butlers?"

"One hundred and twenty-one actually. His name was Ro--" Ned reached out and touched the boy's skin, releasing the eerie blue light as Ned re-deadened him for the final time.

Ned's finger was suspended in the air as he watched the body of Paris du Elisabeth fall back onto the metal autopsy table. The Pie Maker furrowed his brow and he felt an array of goosebumps appear on the surface of his skin…

"Damn it, we didn't even get to hear his name!" Emerson growled indignantly. "How're we s'posed to narrow down the killer if there's a hundred and twenty-one suspects?"

"A hundred and twenty-_one_," Ned intercepted.

"Yeah, yeah."

Chuck frowned, "Poor kid. But what did he mean by 'hello newcomers'? It didn't even look like he was talking to us!"

"What d'you think, Pie Man?"

"You know how when you're a child and you feel peckish, and then you find that your hand is somewhere where it shouldn't be, like inside the cookie jar and trying to reach for the last cookie," Ned rambled nervously. "And you know that all your hopes are over  
'cos get the feeling that somebody's behind you and you know you've been caught in the act?"

"Yeah," Chuck concurred.

"What in the name of rhubarb pie are you getting at?" Emerson muttered.

"I think my hand's just been caught in the cookie jar," Ned concluded, taking a deep breath.

At that very moment, one Pie Maker, one Private Investigator and one girl named Chuck, turned around and faced the door, and discovered the most shocking discovery of their lives – their hands had indeed been caught in the cookie jar. By two stunned and one awed Time Travellers.

As if on cue…

"OH MY WORD!"

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

**A/N:- Thanks for reading people!**

**Message to reviewers:**

**Praisers: Keep 'em coming. Loving it all the way!**

**Constructive criticisers: I'd love MORE feedback. Thanks a million!**

**Flamers: Bring it on! ****Where are you guys? You know who you are!**

**Others: Heya! How's Pluto for ya? Throw them reviews at me!**

**Hiiiiii! Next chapter SHOULD be up on Sunday or Tuesday, at the VERY latest.**

***Goes off to hunt for Norwegian vampires and write the next chapter/episode for 'Series Four in Red, Yellow and Brown' in a cave***


	8. Chapter 7 Interruptive Intrusions

**A/N:- YAY! ****I finally have got round to writing this! This chapter is mainly exploring the Doctor's inquisitiveness and, err, Time Lord smartitude. (I'm making up new words as I go along. Well, technically I **_**borrowed**_** this word from my friend but… What you looking at?! =P QUACK!) **

**Hmm, I wasn't so sure what the Doctor's reaction to a morgue full of dead bodies would be, so I just made up what I thought he'd react to it and followed up some information on Wikipedia about some of the Doctor's previous encounters with dead bodies and morgues and stuff. Ooh and for the record, it's kinda weird to blend a lot of Jim Dale style narrating/writing into the Doctor Who parts, but I'll try to keep to it as much as poss AND I'll be using lots of alliteration to make up for it.**

**Thanks for all your awesome reviews so far – they've kept me going! Ooh and many thanks to LuckyBlackCat whose supplied me with many fabby quackity-quack ideas and support with this fanfic. HEHE – see if **_**you***_** can spot the line I 'borrowed' from ya. **

**Disclaimer: *along to the tune of the fabtastic Rubber Ducky Rave* I don't own 'em, I don't own 'em, I DON'T. Doctor Who-oo and Pushing Daisies aren't mine!**

**Enjoy!**

**=D =D =D =D =D**

***Oh you know who you are! **

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Chapter Seven - Interruptive Intrusions and Unexpected Unions**  
**

The facts were these: the man who called himself 'the Doctor' was attracted to trouble - attracted to trouble like bees were attracted to trouble, like Emerson was attracted to money, like Olive was attracted to Ned and like the Pie Maker was attracted to the girl named Chuck. And like honey is sticky and sweet, tasty in small doses but nauseating and overpowering in too many, so was trouble to the Time Lord. It followed and clung to him, like the sticky substance honey was, and at this very moment, the man called the Doctor was nine-hundred and three years, twenty-four weeks and twelve hours old, he smelt _trouble. _But of a different kind – a _sweeter_ kind.

"Did that dead body just _move_?" Donna gasped, stumbling back and scarcely avoiding colliding into one confused and dazed pink-and-yellow human.

"Oh, hell no," Emerson muttered aloud, staring at the dizzying blurs of colour in front of him that consisted of brown, red and yellow.

"Th-this isn't what it looks like," the Pie Maker stammered, quickly concealing his once-suspended hand behind his back.

"_Oh_, but I think this is _exactly_ what it looks like," the Time Lord replied, eyebrows raised at a particular angle. "And the reason that I know _that_ is because when one's eyes are twitching, it tells me that _somebody's_ lying."

"But sometimes it's better to hide the truth and lie than tell it, because the truth can hurt the people around you and being hurt isn't a very nice feeling," Chuck chimed in respectably, in an attempt to ease the awkward conversation. "So it's best the truth is hidden and locked away in a closet, where it can't do any harm or hurt the people you love."

"She's _good_," Rose added playfully.

"Very clever. Chuck wasn't it?" the Doctor didn't wait for an answer and blathered onwards. "But, correct me if I'm wrong Chuck, lies are like ghosts – they come back to haunt and taunt you for the rest of your life – like an echo. 'Cos if the truth is locked away in a closet for all its life, then no resolution can be found and where can true peace ever be found, by feigning lies and making up excuses?"

Charlotte Charles, daughter of one Charles Charles and one 'Aunt' Lily, had experienced more than enough to know never to back down from a fight, whether it be verbal or physical. The girl named Chuck, trained at the age of nine years by one Lily Charles to whip up clever comebacks at first sign of debate, opened her mouth to speak…

"Stay out of this Dead Girl," muttered the Private Investigator irritably, before smiling sweetly at their _intruders_ and craning his head around to face the Pie Maker in an 'I told you so,' manner. "What did I tell you about you an' your twitchy- eye, leaving the lying up to _me_."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Seventeen minutes, twenty-two seconds and twenty metres to the left earlier, one energetic Time Lord, one Rose Tyler and one Donna Noble clambered slowly up the large stone steps to the City Morgue.

"Should we be, I dunno, be talking to the victim's family, looking for victims and you know, that sort of stuff," Rose suggested, shrugging. "As opposed to skulking around a _morgue_ like them pathologists from _Silent Witness_."

"Yeah!" Donna agreed, "I always thought that murder investigations meant looking for clues, intimidating interrogations and sniffing out suspects – at least, since we met _the _Agatha Christie, of course."

The Doctor simply raised his eyebrows, "I think _some_ certain women have been watching too much ITV on the scanner," the Doctor winced and swiftly changed the subject, "Weeeell, to be honest, it depends how you look at it."

"Look at what?" Donna and Rose chimed simultaneously.

"That!" the Doctor stated concisely, removed his hands from his coat pocket's and pointed visibly at the morgue's large windows, which were all covered head to foot in posters.

The words _HAVE YOU SEEN ME?_ blared across each and every scrap of paper that covered the window. All were of different colours and sizes, shapes and fonts, from handwritten to computer printed, from large fancy lettering to small unreadable prints. Pictures upon pictures of 'missing' shoes, boots, sandals, heels and trainers splattered cross each large and small slip of paper, all ranging widely from colour to shading to brand.

"That's one hell lot o' missing shoes," exclaimed Rose, voice full of amusement.

"Gosh, there must be hundreds!" gasped Donna, "Where've they all gone?"

"That's just the bane of the problem – nobody knows," the Doctor said and whipped out the almost-forgotten newspaper article from out of his pocket, flashing it in front of his companions' faces. "Along with our Paris's lost _sneakers_, according to this article, twenty-thousand pairs of shoes have gone missing – all across North and South America."

"You're joking?!" Rose muttered disbelievingly.

"Twenty-thousand pairs of shoes…" Donna repeated, "Wow."

"Seriously, but there's been no connection whatsoever – all different types of shoes have been stolen, in people's sleep, in the street, even in the bathroom. Just _stolen_ in the blink of an eye – literally," the Doctor explained, a little grimly. "Well, twenty-thousand, _excluding _the countless planets in the sky that've been hit by the infamous trainer thief – unknown to Planet Earth, ' course," the corner of his mouth turned downwards slightly and he planted a serious expression on his face, "But, no deaths recorded or found at all. Paris's unfortunate mishap could've just been a grain of rice, for our sneaky trainer thief…"

"No," Rose whispered, catching on quickly.

"Hang on, you're not saying that the killer of Paris is an…" Donna contributed, unable to finish her sentence.

Rose inclined her head to the side and pondered something aloud, "Wait a sec, if you've known this all along, why didn't you…? This has been part of your plan all along, 'asn't it?"

"Oh, yes!" grinned the man called the Doctor, as he quickly walked off and into the morgue.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"John Smith," the Doctor stated quickly and produced his psychic paper, flashing it wildly at the Coroner. "I'm a doctor from the Papen County Sanatorium – they, err, sent me and my colleagues here to examine and inspect Paris du Elisabeth's body. See? It says it right here!" He gestured Donna and Rose, letting the Coroner drink in what the psychic paper said. "Family doctor."

"You British?"

"Just migrated from London just last year!"

"You British lie a lot?"

"Umm…"

"'Cos you 'ID' seems to think so – it's a telling me you're a liar."

"What, me? No, no, no, of course not! Never lied in my life, me?!" the Doctor exclaimed. The Coroner must've been expecting to find him a liar. He quickly snapped the psychic paper shut and jammed it straight back into his pocket. "Oh, sorry about that, must've slipped in the _wrong_ identification card!"

"Mmm-hmmm," the Coroner narrowed his eyes, "Whoever you folk are, you're gonna have to wait your turn. Cod's in there – doing his usual shifty do-da ."

"Sorry, did you just say Cod? As in Emerson Cod?" the Doctor piped up, truly intrigued.

"Perhaps,"

"No need to worry then! I've known good old Emerson for years, best of friends we are. Well, on my part of the bargain anyway..."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"He won't mind if we just pop in to visit, I'm sure! Rose, Donna, you coming?"

Before the Coroner could protest, 'John Smith' and his 'colleagues' had bounced off to the door on his right. As soon as the man in the trench coat peeled the door open, a whole array of bright red buckets clattered out and whacked him painfully on the head.

"You ain't gonna find no dead bodies in the storage cupboard," the Coroner repeated the words dully and muttered to himself, scribbling away on a piece of paper. "The shifty folk always get it wrong."

After two minutes and thirty-two embarrassing seconds of apologising, head bumping and clearing up, the trio bounded sheepishly yet determinedly over to the other door. The Doctor was in lead – left with the trademark of a badly swollen head – as he yanked the door knob open, only to find an small, empty, white room in a cupboard sized amount of space to breathe. He spotted a door just opposite the first one and headed to open it, but stopped in fascination to examine the unique quality of the wooden doorframe

"It's a little cramp in 'ere you know," Donna reminded sweetly.

The Time Lord placed his hand on the doorknob and pulled the door open gently, signalling his fellow companions to be silent, as they crept into the back of the room, discreet, silent and unnoticed.

At that very moment, the redhead, the blonde and the Time Lord all gaped at the sight before them, shocked, stunned yet soundless, as they witnessed the undeniably fascinating, if not chilling, practice of a Pie Maker making Paris Du Elisabeth alive-again.

The Doctor's eyes were fixated in enthralment as Ned's finger came into contact with the clearly lifeless body of Paris du Elisabeth, which rippled with sparkling gold light, which what the man called the Doctor classified as residual revitalised body heat… Which was an energy that was physically _impossible_ to have been released from an ordinary human being, the fact that it was in the early undeveloped 21st century made it ever more impossible. The fact that Ned was, judged accurately by the Doctor's alien Time Lord senses, human stirred the situation up even more. But one other wild conclusion seemed to stir the Time Lord's brain even more.

The _deceased _Paris du Elisabeth's body rippled, as pale, lifeless flesh turned pink, fleshy and rosy – so full of life, that it seemed impossible that he had seemed to limp mere seconds before.

The moments ticked by, like a time bomb waiting to be set off, as the Private Investigator, the girl named Chuck, and the Pie Maker casually questioned and chatted the amazingly reawakened body of the adolescent. One minute after the miraculous scenario started, the Pie Maker's finger merely tapped the bare flesh of the young boy, before he fell back to the autopsy table with a deafening THUD. The flash of pale electric blue light, ceasing his life, as his flesh turned pale and lifeless, once more.

Ned babbled something barely audible to Rose, Donna or the Doctor's ear before three equally stunned faces turned to face the Time Travellers.

Exactly three words came out of Donna Noble's mouth and the words were these:

"OH MY WORD."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Hello, Doctor, let me introduce myself - wait I already have," Emerson gibbered aimlessly, in an attempt to shoo the nosey 'tourists' away and pretend nothing had just happened. "now would you and your _friends_ care to step outside, I believe it is called _al fresco_."

"Nah, I'll stay right here thanks," the Doctor said, beaming and summarily settling himself upon a metal disinfectant-pungent table top. "But thanks for the kind offer! SO, if you don't mind me asking, what just happened to young Paris there?"

"_Big Hair_'sworse than Little Big Mouth." Emerson muttered incoherently.

"Nothing at all – everything's perfectly normal and nothing is out of the ordinary," Ned elucidated, his pitch a little higher than usual. "How long, exactly, have you been standing there?"

"Long enough. So, if you don't mind me asking, what just happened to young Paris there?" the Doctor repeated, as he plucked his sonic screwdriver coolly out of his pocket and pushed down on a button. It triggered the classic piano piece _Hands Against The Wall _to suddenly blast loudly out of unseen speakers – much to the Coroner's distaste and irritation.

"Listen _Doctor_, I'm warning you and your pretty girly friends now, the truth ain't like puppies, a bunch of them running around, you pick your favorite. One truth and it has come a knocking. On _your _door. You open it or run away as fast as you can, your choice. I personally suggest you choose the second - and bring your shotgun with you."

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Meanwhile, at thirty-five years and thirty-four weeks years of age, Olive's vision swam from the empty Pie Hole back to the overcrowded _Muse Museum_ where the great shoe exhibition was taking place. The little blonde waitress had just finished her visit to Couer d'Couers, where she had delivered pie and aimlessly babbled to, former synchronised swimming sister duo, underwater artists, Lily and Vivian Charles.

On her return to the Pie Hole, she found neither hide nor hair of the Pie Maker, the P.I. or the girl named Chuck at the famous eatery, so had tediously opened the Pie Hole but found neither hide nor hair of a customer in sight. As all attention was being called at _Muse Museum_, where an important exhibition of legendary shoes and sneakers was being held.

Hot and flustered, the lonely Snook chose to close the Pie Hole for the afternoon, due to its lack of customers. With help from a tub of mint and chocolate chip ice-cream, Olive Snook enticed, Golden Retriever, Digby into a long afternoon walk to pass the time.

But along the way, one tall, wealthy lady in one sparkly pink dress wearing darkly tinted shades caught the waitress's attention.

"Excuse me?" Olive called out succinctly, tugging on Digby's leash to pull him away from one truckful of ice-creams and she, herself, heading over to one distinctive figure. "Aren't you Lady du Elisabeth?"

Unbeknownst to the Pie Maker, the P.I. and the girl named Chuck, waitress and faithful Itty Bitty, Olive Snook was up to a little investigation of her own and about to make her own appearance in exactly four minutes, eighteen seconds.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"You can bring the dead back to life?" the Doctor exclaimed after Ned had completely his session of sprawling, tone a notch higher than usual and positively intrigued - reaching around to scratch a spot behind his ear. "Blimey! That's very advanced for a human. In this century especially – you lot haven't even grasped the pure _basics_ of string theory yet. Ned, I'm impressed. Stiiiill, you humans never fail to surprise me!"

"Humans?" Chuck chipped in, blatantly confused.

The tourist called 'the Doctor' seemed to be drinking all of this in, like he was drinking milk and he didn't even seem in the slightest bit bothered. In fact, he looked very amused and chatted about everyone else as if they were a different species to him.

Though that would be clearly _impossible_. But then what about that blue box of his? Was that alien too?

"Ignore 'im," Rose replied Chuck warmly, still slightly _frazzled _by the situation. Bringing back the dead… She didn't understand why, but it sent a chill down her spine. "Long story."

"Flying fat, _potato_ heads, giant wasps, carnivorous shadows, golden pepper pots on wheels, but waking the dead…_ How_?" Donna piped up.

"First touch: life. Second touch: dead, again, forever," Ned explained pithily, shooting a tender loving glance at his childhood sweetheart.

As the couple exchanged meaningful gazes and the P.I. rolled his eyes at his fellow investigator's sickly sweetness, the man called the Doctor's air of suspicion of the non-physical couple grew ever more defiant.

"But why would you do that – let somebody die again?" Rose asked hotly, "Paris, that boy we saw come back to life, he probably 'ad a whole life in front of him and some cruel person spontaneously decided to take it all away. You could've given him another chance to live! But you just let 'im _die_… Again. Forever."

"It's like saying you're going to ignore the chocolate and eat the chilli, even though you've got a choice. It's like… _murder._" Donna threw in harshly, flashing a sensitive glance at Paris's pale lifeless figure.

"Hey, don't you go accusing me o'--" Emerson began.

"And _I_ think you're doing this for the money – not for the life," intercepted the Doctor coldly, hands in pockets, strolling up to the Pie Maker. "Am I right?" the Doctor stared Ned in the eye and muttered, "Or is there something else?"

The Pie Maker shifted nervously from foot to foot before he blinked, stepped away from the Doctor and replied hastily, "If a dead thing is alive again for more than a minute – something else has to die in its place."

Emerson nodded rather smugly and shot a sneaky, but clearly reproving look at Chuck, who blushed and ducked her head in return. The P.I. cleared his throat punctually and started rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels, whistling, as sudden fascination of the shocking-white ceiling above overtook him. The Time Travellers by the names of Rose and Donna shared a nonplussed glance and shrugged at each other.

"I ain't saying nothing!" Emerson warned musingly.

"…Everything we do is a choice. Oatmeal or cereal. Highway or side streets. Kiss her or keep her. We make choices and we live with the consequences. If someone gets hurt along the way we ask for forgiveness. It's the best anyone can do," Ned continued, "I had a choice. I could hide in a corner and pretend I was a normal, avoiding as much dead things as possible, or I could hide in a corner and wait for a dead guy to come falling from the sky, with Emerson Cod witnessing," the Pie Maker paused. "I chose the latter."

"Good for you, Ned!" the Doctor chirped happily, as he energetically clapped the caught-in-unawares Pie Maker on the back.

But his inquisitive, serious tone possessed the Time Lord once more, as the defiant second half of his personality took over, as he passed a look between Ned and the girl named Chuck.

"Can I just say," Rose chipped in suddenly and nodded briefly at the girl named Chuck, "you an' Ned. You don't seem to touch much, do you? I mean, like this morning..."

"Kissing through cling—_ plastic wrap_?" Donna completed, correcting herself quickly.

"Tender loving glances?"

"Gooey love talk?" supplemented the Private Investigator.

"Acting like you want to touch either other, but don't?"

"Holding _my_ hand, instead of your own?" Emerson supplied again, but received prompted glares from the Pie Maker and the girl named Chuck. Donna and Rose stared at each other in bewilderment.

"Well, now, that's sorted - all that's left for me to do is… Chuck!" the Doctor exclaimed and danced over to her, his eyes bulging with enthusiasm.

"That's me!" she exclaimed, as cheerfully as possible, although her inner self was not so sure…

"Charlotte Charles, yes?"

"I'm 99.9 percent sure that I didn't tell you my last name was--"

"Lawrence Schwartz?"

"How d'you know 'bout him?" Emerson cut-in suspiciously, voice thick with both surprise and suspicion.

"Lonely Tourist Charlotte Charles?"

"Who you working for?"

"I'd rather not be called by--"

"The living-dead?"

"You can't be living and dead at the same time. 'Alive again' sounds a lot nicer, don't you th--"

"AHA! How stupid am I? No, no, don't answer that," rambled the Doctor, "I should've realised in the beginning, it was _that_ simple!" the enthusiastic Time Lord continued, hands wildly gesturing at the bemused Charlotte "Chuck" Charles. "Your name – it was so familiar, that I began to suspect… It was like I knew you from somewhere, but where? You weren't alien, I knew that much, the whole genetic scent just gave it away. You humans – always drawing attention to yourselves, it's a wonder how you go by a day without yelling your existence out to the Universe. _That_ was the question buzzing around my head like a million bees, questioning your very existence from the moment I met you. But now… Oh ho-ho, I remember… _THIS_!"

A piece of paper was plucked hastily out of the Doctor pocket, as the Time Lord danced about manically. The man called the Doctor laughed and unfolded the page of creased newspaper, tapping a certain small article.

All six room-occupiers, bemused and perplexed, closed in on the Doctor and huddled around the small, yet evidently significant slip of paper. At that very moment, when six pairs of eyes attacked the neatly-printed writing, two gasps, two squeaks, one choked laugh and one '_Hell, no,_" filled the air. But the newspaper was ripped away from their eyes, as fast as it was taken out, as the Doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully and waved the paper up in the air.

Neighbouring the blaring article of Paris du Elisabeth's tragic end, sat a subtle tiny article, labelled _"Lonely Tourist Charlotte Charles's Grave Raid"_. In one corner, was the faded, crumpled photograph of the girl named Chuck , cheeks rosy and canary yellow sunhat drooped sloppily over her head, as the younger Charlotte Charles posed for the camera. Behind her the large, gleaming white figurine of the _Cruise Voyage Cruise Ship_ stood tall and proud, as she prepared to board the ship – monkeys hidden in her suitcase and _Boutique Travel Travel Boutique_'s manager Deedee Duffield's (shadily) reassurance speech ringing her head. Little did the girl named Chuck know, she was only never to return… _alive_.

Underneath, the Doctor's eyes danced across the page, at the miniature lettering of the article in question – his mind absorbing every scrap of information, with gleaming eyes, alight with energy and ruse.

Without a second's thought, the Doctor's grin faltered slightly as he tucked the article straight back into his pocket and leapt backwards – a mouthful of information to verbally splatter out in great chunks of babble and fascination.

"It's not what it--"

"Is it just me or did that newspaper article just say that Chuck's d--"

"I'm still not get--"

"You might be British, but you certainly ain't no tour--"

"Everybody just calm dow--"

"You two don't touch – you _can't_ touch," the Doctor elucidated over the hubbub, voice gravelly and hands flailing, as he continued trekking backwards and stared intently at the girl named Chuck and the Pie Maker.

"…The slightest ounce of physical contact is deadly – literally… Oh, Ned, you made a mistake 'cos you told me yourself. First touch: life. I knew there was a different _something _ in your genetic scent, something different, something not-normal, the same something that's kept me away from a certain Captain, actually,"

His eyes grew pensive and he found himself not directing his words at anybody in particular, "The reason why our friend the Pie Maker and good old Chuck can't touch is because--"

"You might wanna….!?"

_CRASH!_ The Doctor's eyes widened tremendously, as the heels of his red Converses met the cold metal of a gurney's wheel, causing his to topple backwards and crash onto the floor – banging his head ludicrously against a pile of metal… buckets.

"_Because_ of their deadly skin allergy, silly!" trilled the optimistic voice that belonged to none other than one…

"OLIVE?!"

"Look what the cat's dragged in," grumbled Emerson bluntly. One merry, lively Golden Retriever bounded flamboyantly into the room and the P.I. changed his mind, "Make that _dog_."

"_WOOF_!"

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**A/N:- MWAHAHAHAHA! More next time peoples. But remember, regarding this chapter in particular, things aren't always as they first seem… Eep, yes I know, if you spotted the little Fires of Pompeii type thing I copied and put into this, feel free to chuck some *shifty eyes* Kinder Buenos at me… Yes, go on, chuck more at me. AND MORE! Mwahahaha. Sozzy guys, I couldn't remember/didn't know the name of the Cruise Ship that Chuck was murdered on.**

**Please read and review! It won't take that long, I promise and the bribes have upped, a **_**sack**_** full of choccies for reviewers. HEHE.**

**KK, off to start my R.E. essay, before I forget and get stuck in a lunch time detention on Monday… **

**Disclaimer #2: I DO NOT OWN **_**HANDS ON THE WALL**_**. No prizes to guessing where that tune/song/piano piece comes from. YOU DON'T KNOW?!? *stalks off and runs round the TARDIS screaming, power-puff girls in hands*** **Ahem…**


	9. Chapter 8 Get This Show On The Road

**A/N:- *bangs head against brick walnut* I've been vair vair wicked lately *cues melodramatic music – preferably by Mozart or Beethoven* and haven'****t posted up a chapter in TWO WHOLE WEEKS!**

**Why? Being stuck inside the Coroner's storage cupboard (EEP!) isn't very comfortable and permanently jams your head from the flow of ideas. =P I am currently writing this all out on an abandoned useful tin of shoe-polish, which conveniently has access to the Internet... Mwahahaha! Also the Evil Ones have been ****very sprout-ish**__**and ho**_**ww**_**ible lately, so I've been a bit caught up in homeworks, projects and exams! LOTSA DIALOGUE in this chappie! Be warned!**

**BIG SHOUT OUT to all mah fabbity fab regular-and-irregular pistachios *coughs* **_**reviewers**_**: Cymini Sectore, LuckyBlackCat, James Birdsong, Winnow, Whas'Up, ChosenOneKnuckles, Hamsworth, and xkissfromarosex!! Ooh! - As promised… *lobs sacks full of choccies into the air***

**Disclaimer: Pushing Daises – not mine. Doctor Who – not mine. Stretchy cheese (not in this story) – MINE! HEEHAW!**

**BTW – UnBeta'd!**

**Ah well, here it is, the next chapter! **

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Chapter Eight – Let's Get This Show On The Road

"WOOF! WOOF!" Digby barked again, although what he was trying to say was this: "This place smell a lot like the dead fruits my owner keeps, but a lot worse. I hope you have ice-cream."

"Hello Digby!" Chuck exclaimed, grinning – the current situation obviously forgotten in her mind, as her mind drifted away into a world of honey, bees and blooming flowers. She ambled over to Digby, currently twenty-three years young.

"Hell's bells!" Olive shrieked and jumped back, finger pointed up in the air, as she restrained an energetic Digby. "Is he dead?"

"Question number one: yes, of course he's dead Itty Bitty, that's why they call this place a 'morgue' and question number two: Olive, what in the name of rhubarb are you doing here?" one Emerson Cod questioned.

The girl known as 'Itty Bitty' and 'Little Big Mouth' shuffled forward, squinting at a spot on the floor in the near distance.

"You sure that he's dead, Emerson? He's still twitching," she reasoned.

"HE IS?!" Ned and Emerson yelled simultaneously.

At that instant, the Pie Maker jumped around and checked the body of young Paris, but sighed in relief when he found no signs of life at all. His flesh was still as pale as… death and his body remained as lifeless as ever. _Phew!_

"False alarm," the Pie Maker muttered.

"It better be," Emerson murmured incoherently to Ned.

"Besides," Rose stated. She was clearly unaware of one Olive Snook's obliviousness to the 'Magic Finger' status. "Didn't you say that you--" she gestured coolly at Ned. "--could only bring 'em back for a minute?"

"Bring what - _who_ - back for a minute?" Olive shouted nosily over the audible tune of _Hands on the Wall_, which was _still_ playing.

Donna frowned at Olive's unawareness, assuming she'd already been let in on the secret and said. "Bring back the de--"

But faster than the Private Investigator could buy a copy of _Knitwits_, Emerson rushed over and clamped his hand over the redhead's mouth, smiling forcibly.

"She means _deadline,_" Emerson improvised quickly.

"Do you mind?!" Donna protested, squirming out of the P.I's grasp and straightening her clothes. Emerson grunted and kept a close eye on her and the blonde.

"Wait, Ned can bring back the _deadline_ back for one minute?" Olive reaffirmed. "That doesn't make any sense."

Donna and Rose shared a confused glance. Ned and Chuck shared a worried one.

"Yeah… Yeah! Pie Man's good at makin' up excuses. Like squeezing out of tight spots and _**dead**_lines by creating some rubbish, for only a minute. Good for investigations."

Olive merely shrugged and dismissed it; just like she had dismissed and ignored every secret, she wasn't told. But she still didn't understand how deadlines had anything to do with the cute young guy on the gurney-type table. And it _definitely_ didn't relate at all to the man in question: man who'd claimed he was a 'Doctor'. The Doctor.

Well, seeing as she was specifically talking about the tall cutie, currently lying on the floor – looking rather insentient.

"Doctor, what d'you say?" Rose declared, eyes skimming the room for the sight of one energetic, skinny, rambling Time Lord. She found none. The girl named Rose frowned. She had to admit, he had been unusually quiet. "Doctor?"

"What's Space Man doin' on the floor?" Donna yelped in surprise. She jumped back and jabbed a stunned finger at the sight of one Doctor, splayed atop the cool, black tiles and unconscious at the back of the room.

He twitched in his sleep, as he dreamt of talking horses, poisonous pears, and an extremely ugly Absorbaloff. Well, they were all extremely ugly to begin with, but let's just say that this one made the others look pretty. _Extremely_ pretty.

"If I recall correctly: just as Olive and Digby surprise us by entering, the Doctor crashed into that inconveniently placed pile of buckets, while babbling madly, and fainted," Ned explained in detail, intervening. "Not that anything important or out-of-the-ordinary was happening or taking place, while you were out of the room of course. Everything was completely normal. We weren't talking about secrets. Definitely not."

Emerson smacked his head and groaned despairingly. Chuck sighed.

**&&&&&&&&&&**

In the meanwhile, the dwellers of London, Rose and Donna scuttled over to the Doctor's aid, kneeling by his side. They'd tuned out and ran off as soon as Ned had mentioned the word _faint_.

One thing that struck both women most was that Pie Hole waitress, Olive Snook, seemed completely oblivious to Ned's power and everything that was happening around her. Judging by three separate reactions, it looked as if the waitress wasn't supposed to or ever going to know…

"I knew there was something strange when I stopped hearing Time Boy's gob running," Donna commented, checking his pulse at the neck – just to be on the safe side.

She felt the double heartbeats thrum through her fingers and pulled them back quickly, still not used to the concept of not one, but _two_ hearts. And a double respiratory system. And a non-sleep _needing _body. Now that was just plain _cheating_!

Rose began clearing the buckets away from his head and propping them up against the wall in a messy stack.

"We fully forgot 'im as well, what with Digby and Olive bursting in an' all?" Rose laughed, glancing at the cataleptic Time Lord.

As if on cue, the dog being discussed whined appreciatively and broke free from Olive's grasp on his leash, padding over to the red-haired and blonde giantesses. He squeezed in between the gap between them and wagged his tail, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He sniffed around the place, his wet, sensitive nose detecting the distinct trace of… chocolate. _Nestle_ chocolate, to be exact. Digby mooched about, sniffing out the source of smell, while Rose and Donna petted him affectionately – rubbing his back and patting his fur.

The smell seemed to be originating from the skinny, tall giant in brown. After exactly one minute and six seconds of continuous sniffing, Digby rifled around in the hole in the Giant's clothes and discreetly pulled out the delicious, slightly melted red slab of chocolate from his pocket. He backed away, sneakily tucking the entire bar deep into the crevice of his mouth.

Luckily, the Giantesses didn't notice him and chatted amongst themselves – praising him and using a high-pitched intonation, Digby never did understand the latter part… The dog allowed himself to be patted and stroked, once more, before he trotted off back to Olive and gobble up his prize.

"The dog is so adorable," Donna concluded.

"I know!" Rose agreed.

"An' he reminds me of Captain Jack."

"I kn— He does?"

"It's… the eyes," Donna explained, slightly thoughtful. "When you look at Digby, he scarcely looks like he's completed his puppy years, yet alone adulthood, but his eyes are so _old_ and dark. Like he's been living for ages, longer than he should be, older than he looks. It's--"

"…Like Jack," Rose completed, quietly.

Donna's eye widened. "Wait, all those things, Chuck!"

They shared a contemplative look and at the same time, a light sprung from both their eyes and they gasped, as a possible thought erupted from the core of their minds.

"NAH!"

"Besides, Ned didn't even say if he could bring anything other than humans back to life!" Rose blurted out, rationalising. "A re-alived dog is one thing, but if we're talkin' Chuck…"

"Yeah." Donna breathed. She frowned. "But when the Doctor was rambling at goodness knows how fast, it seemed like he was _so_ sure about something."

"Doctor? Doctor? Wake up!" Rose shook the Doctor's shoulders, trying to stir him. She continued, "Ned said it 'imself, if he keeps a… a dead thing awake for more than a minute and longer, than another thing dies in its place!"

The dozing Time Lord only muttered something foreign and fell silent again. Rose sighed.

"So if Chuck was resurrected…" Donna contemplated the thought.

"I dunno," Rose said, shrugging. "He just doesn't seem the selfish type. I mean, like, d'you think he's really the sort of person to go waking up a woman, even if it is the love of his life, knowing that someone else will die in 'is place. Doesn't fit his personality."

"Right I've had enough of this!" Donna exclaimed suddenly, prodding the Doctor a final time and attempting to awake him. When proved unsuccessful she stood up and tapped her foot impatiently.

"What did you say?" Rose snapped out of her sudden daydream and leapt up, brushing the dirt off her jeans.

"I said, I've 'ad enough of _Himself _sleeping through everything. We need answers, and nobody wants to tell us anythin', so we need a way to wake _this_ skinny excuse of an alien up!" she jabbed an accusatory finger at the Doctor. "But how?"

"Sink."

"Bless you."

"Sink," Rose repeated.

"…"

Donna furrowed her brow, and the blonde promptly nodded in the direction of the sink nearby. Rose let a small grin adorn her face and collected a bucket off the pile.

A light shone in the redhead's eyes, as she clocked it. Donna grinned, repeating, "Sink."

**&&&&&&&&&&**

"Are you tellin' the truth?" Olive continued, after a moment of silence.

"YES!" the Pie Maker, the Private Investigator and the Dead Girl all cried out simultaneously.

"Your eye's twitching again," Chuck whispered helpfully to the Pie Maker.

Olive tilted her head to one side as she observed the Pie Maker's actions. He swallowed a lump in his throat and shuffled over to Emerson, followed by Chuck, muttering something in the P.I's ear. The P.I. growled and inaudibly gibbered something back, as they formed some sort of group huddle.

Digby returned, munching and ripping apart the _Kit Kat_ he'd 'found' in the tall, skinny man's pocket. He thought of the reaction of the skinny man, when he found his food missing, and his ears flopped. Ah well! It wasn't Digby's fault that the Tall Giants of the world, failed to look after their own property and left them lying around. As the old saying went: _finders' keepers_, _losers' weepers_. Olive scratched his ear in boredom, wondering what 'secret' they were discussing to hide from her next.

Some times she felt like Digby was her only _real_ friend, but then again, there was just that something about the Golden Retriever that made her feel out-of-the-know. Olive Snook, discarded, unknowing and dejected. But _other_ times, she felt like bottle feeding the whole lot of them 'Secret Keepers' with the truth, and enraging them with the fury and wrath of the tiny waitress's mind. It would teach 'em. She scrunched up her nose in frustration and pinned her attention back on Emerson, Ned and Olive.

The girl named Chuck flashed him a winning smile. Emerson, exasperated and forbearing, reluctantly gave in and grunted in approval.

"You owe me, big time," the Private Investigator concluded to the girl named Chuck. "This is precious investigation time I'm wasting, and time means _money_."

"Thank you Emerson!"

He mumbled something out of earshot and suddenly his attention fixated itself on Olive.

"Olive, Digby, get in the car, you're coming with me," The P.I. snapped his head round, for a second, to Ned and Chuck. "You two keep a close eye on the Three Musketeers – don't let 'em eat their way into this any further. They're like them boomerangs, you fling them as faraway as you can get them, but they come hurtling back – asking for more. An' I don't like no boomerangs, so you'd better sort things out and send them on their way – especially that tall guy. Oh and find out as much as you can about young Paris. You got that?"

"No need to worry about us. We'll be fine!" Chuck reassured, elbowing Ned. "Everything'll be as right as rain! Even though I don't like the rain very much – the bees get scared…"

"Why?" Olive chipped in. "Where we going?"

"Back to the _Pie Hole_," replied Emerson.

"The Pie Hole's closed?" checked Ned blatantly. The Pie Maker didn't wait for an answer and check his watch. "But it's only 2pm. The _Pie Hole _shouldn't be closed, it should be open and brimming with happy, satisfied customers for lunch!" he rambled onwards. "What if there were hungry, cold customers who were waiting to be filled with the warmth of pie, but gave up and tottered off to some other refectory. Possibly the, arch-rival and pizza eatery, _GIANT Slice_. And how long did you say the Pie Hole has been closed for?"

Ned took a deep breath.

"I didn't. It's been closed for fifty minutes, thirty seconds," the petit waitress answered blankly. "I only left, 'cos the whole place is as empty as anything – I left Pigby to guard it, by the way. Everyone's gone to that daft Muse Museum for that shoe convention!"

"How interesting!" Emerson stated sardonically, and rather impatiently. "Now let's _go_."

**&&&&&&&&&&&**

"On the count of three."

"One, two, THREE!"

The man called the Doctor awoke with a gasp, jerking up to a sitting position, as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over his head. He gaped in shock, realising that this statement was a little _too_ literal. His clothes, face and hair were completely soaked to the brim and he was dripping wet . And not to mention, very _very_ cold. The Time Lord shuddered and shook his head, like a wet dog, causing bouts of protest to erupt from above him.

"Brrrr, that's cold!" he exclaimed and finally looked up into the faces of the culprits. "Did you just throw a bucket of ice-cold water over my head?!"

They merely smirked and burst into peals of laughter, point and laughing at him. They quickly straightened out, trying to form 'deeply sophisticated and mature' expressions.

"Noooo," they cried out, voices full of sarcasm and feigned innocence.

Smirking like two guilty school girls, stood Donna and Rose, each shamefacedly clutching a metal bucket each – still in a water-throwing position.

"That took you long enough," Rose said, grinning.

"Thought you were never gonna wake up, Space Man!" Donna contributed

"You're awake!" the girl named Chuck proclaimed suddenly, big, brown eyes meeting with his.

The Doctor blinked and refocused his thoughts, gripping and piecing his memories together to try to remember what had happened. His mind lit up a light bulb, as he remembered something about talking horses called Matthew and Andrew, sentient, poisonous pears and an… Absorbaloff. But no… that wasn't it! There was something else! He dug around in his head for a second.

Suddenly all the memories flooded back to his Time Lord mind and he jumped up onto his feet. Forgetting the fact that he was still dripping wet and had violently whacked his head, he consequently crashed into a shelf behind him, as a result of sudden dizziness.

Donna and Rose pulled him forward, to steady him.

"Now, where was I?" he blinked rapidly and stared around expectantly. "No-one. Nope? What've I missed? Nothing good happen? Right! So, 2009, brilliant year! Obama's America's first black president, clamp down on free music downloads, US meets UK, and…" the Doctor stood dipped his hands deep into his pockets, and caught Chuck's eye, looking at her intensely. A serious expression adorned his features. "And, you're not s'posed to be alive."

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**A/N:- Justa wondering people, you prefer: CHEESE or FORK? The choice is yours… POWER TO THE PEOPLE!**

**Reviews?**

**=D =D =D =D =D**


	10. Chapter 9 Explanatory Explanations

**Disclaimer: Ooh, I officially own Doctor Who AND Pushing Daisies now! That's why Pushing Daises hasn't been cancelled, Digby can talk and the Intrepid Cow is now stocking STRETCHY CHEESE and RED BUS PASSES. Also, seeing as Doctor Who is MAIIIIIIIIIIIINE, I get to keep the TARDIS, throw in a parsnip into each episode and force David Tennant to stay, by threat of a Death Note. Tis his choice… Mwahahahahhaha! I'm so ebiiiiil! **

**To sum it ALL up, nope they both don't belong to me. **

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Chapter Nine – Explanatory Explanations and Surreal Sightings

"Can I help?"

"No."

"Can I help?"

"No."

"Can I help?"

"For the last time, Itty Bitty, _no_," Emerson repeated, from what felt like the millionth time. "I can't concentrate on the road with you yapping away like an express train, gone loco. I'd be a _lot_ happier if you'd care to _shut_ that pie hole of yours."

"Two things: Ned owns the Pie Hole, and I closed it one hour and twenty-seven minutes ago."

"WOOF!" Digby agreed, shaking his tail affirmatively. The young, humanoid blonde was the holder of ice cream, treats, salt and all things nice, so he decided he'd agree to earn some Brownie points. Olive patted him on the head.

Emerson grunted, "You know what I mean."

"Why are the so-called 'tourists from across the pond' coming to help, and not me?" Olive said, purposely ignoring the proposed subject at hand.

"Becau… Hey! Don't you go changing the subject on me."

"Ha!" Olive cried triumphantly. "So they _are_ helping. I knew it!"

"Hell no!" Emerson slipped in quickly - his eyes shifting narrowly from side to side. "Babble Mouth and his friends are just--"

"Wait a minute…"Olive narrowed her eyes and suddenly jumped.

Emerson followed suite, shrieking slightly and Digby howled, just for the sake of it. The waitress pointed an accusatory, mimicked gun-cocked finger at one Emerson Cod, who raised one arm from the steering wheel in surrender.

"If Blue Box man and his alien accomplices are helping, why can't I help? 'Cos you can never trust aliens, Emerson. They could be infiltrating the radio signals, and concocting a plan to take over the world with their Blue Boxes and British accents!"

Olive suddenly yelped up in surprise.

"What is it now, girl?!" Emerson growled, irritably.

"Jimminy Cricket! Now we're gone, they've probably kidnapped Ned and Chuck, for hostage! I bet you they'll be calling us for a ransom any minute now!" Olive gabbled rapidly, her small mind jumping to the biggest of conclusions, all of which piecing together to form one big _BANG_ of an idea.

"I think someone's bin' watching too much late night drama," muttered Emerson.

"Emerson, quick, turn the car around!" Olive yelled. "We have to go back to save them."

She instantly grabbed the steering wheel and swerved the car around viciously, causing a squeal of brakes and the screeching of car metal against metal. Or in other words, the car and the innocent lamppost, standing by. Digby barked happily and leaned over the passenger seat, to lick Emerson round the face, much to the P.I's distaste and horror.

"Olive, where in the name of _Pie Hole_ did you learn to drive?" Emerson yelled, trying to take control of the wheel again, to no avail.

"I didn't."

"Oh, hell no..."

"STEP ON THE BRAKES!" Olive screeched.

Emerson slammed down on the brakes, as Olive crazily turned another corner. Unknown to one present Private Eye, Olive had no sense of direction and was driving through the roads, in a small hope that one City Morgue would appear out of the blue.

At the age of ten, young Emerson Cod was trained by one Calista Cod, the arts of prediction and bodily characteristics. It enabled the young P.I. to spot trouble when it came hurtling around the corner, and be prepared for the disaster.

So, now, at forty-two years, fifteen weeks and seven hours of age, the Private Investigator spotted trouble hurtling around the corner, all in the form of one Olive Snook and jumped in, just in time, to stop it.

Emerson shook the dog off him, grabbed the steering wheel back and swung the car around. It was just in the nick of time, for the little, old lady (who was struggling with her grocery shopping) and squat, lime-green alien (hands stuffed with loads of shoes) to hobble across the road.

"Olive!" Emerson scolded grumpily. "If I hadn't saved you from causing the next 7-11, we could've ran over that little, ol' lady and squat, lime-green alien!"

Hang on a minute…

"SQUAT, LIME-GREEN ALIEN?!" Olive and Emerson shouted in unison.

But their one chance had disappeared into the air, as they were now at least a quarter of a mile away from what they thought they'd both saw. This happened to be a squat, lime-green alien, who was carrying an large, unsteady, multi-coloured variety of shoes. Lots of them.

"Alright, alright, already," Emerson said in determination, still panting slightly, as he parked the car at the side of the road. "I've had enough of all this alien bees-knees. We need answers. We're going solve the murder, find out more about Babble Mouth and squeeze the alien bee-knees outta him, but first we're gonna stop off at _Madame Gateau's _for a slice of cheesecake."

"_We_?" Olive repeated in perplexity and her eyes gleamed. "I'm in on the game?!"

"As long as you keep your big mouth shut."

"Itty Bitty, at you service!" Olive mimed zipping up her lips and saluted. Digby barked to remind them he was there. She stared at Emerson hopefully. "_And_ Digby?"

"Fine. The dumb dog can come too…"

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Chuck opened her mouth to speak, but Ned quickly cut in.

"Chuck's alive, she's very alive. More alive than you or me," The Doctor raised his eyebrow, causing Ned to add very quickly, "In a normally, humanly human way, of course. Chuck can't be dead; if she were dead, she'd be lying on a floor like a dead funeral director – who happens to have nothing to do with this at all, and not standing up like she is now. And I know that what I'm about to say is very meddlesome, rambling, and changing the subject completely: but, is that Blue Box, parked behind my eatery yours, and if it is, are you really an alien, like Olive says you are?"

"And I thought the Doctor blathered on!" Donna brought up and nodded at the Doctor smugly, eyes bemusedly looking at Ned. "Ned, you should be proud, you've just left his Lord and High with the Silver! What d'you say 'bout that Time Boy?"

"I find _that_ just plain offensive Donna Noble, and I'll have you know that--" the Doctor eyed the watching crowd and cleared his throat, looking at Donna sharply. "Now is _not_ the time. Back to you, Neddy-boy, you were changing the subject; that's rude. Well! In my book anyway. Well! When I say _my _book, I mean my metaphorical book. But I say metaphorical book, what I'm_ actually_ trying to say is--"

Rose cut in.

"How d'you knows about the TARDIS? I thought it was only Olive, from what I've been hearing, the Doctor scared the hell out of."

"TARDIS?" Chuck said, in bewilderment.

"TARDIS: Time And Relative Dimension In Space," the Doctor supplied, only retreating when the girls both shot him a death glare.

"The blue box," Donna and Rose explained in unison.

"It was an accident," Ned gabbled quickly.

"The door was open and we saw you get in, before the box, well, _disappeared_," Chuck stated the facts as she saw them. She let a small frown char the corners of her lips. "It was a bit like the bees – they started disappearing too," Chuck smiled again. "Well, at least it's stopped now!"

"It bothered me a lot – the bees disappearing. It was as if half of them had unexpectedly decided that they'd pack their tiny, yellow suitcases, and just leave the planet," Ned said pensively – his eye not twitching for one of the very first times that afternoon.

"Oh, we all know why that is!" the Doctor laughed, all tension drained away, as he shared a knowledgeable look with Donna.

"We do?" Rose reiterated, as her eyebrows knitted together.

"Long story, short: the bees, weeeell- some of them at least, aren't exactly… They're sort-of…" the Doctor jittered.

"They're alien," Donna summed up succinctly.

"They're not?!"

Rose gasped in disbelief. Donna nodded with a smile. Chuck stared at the Doctor.

"You mean alien-alien?" she checked, restricting her jaw from dropping.

"As alien as they get!"

"They can't be," Chuck protested, with a shocked air about her. "Aliens are supposed to be huge, green, scary creatures of the dark, haunting children's nightmare, that's what you call aliens: not innocent, defenceless, fuzzy bees."

"Who said anything about dangerous bees?" the Doctor asked casually. "You humans –your heads are stuffed with tales of scary, purple, ten-foot tall monsters under the bed, and giant, talking ants, that you can't open your eyes and _accept_ that aliens live among us. All around us. Even if you don't know. They're not all dangerous and man-eating, weeeell around 65.56479% are, but the Universe is teeming with life! Right under your very nose. Take Paris Hilton for example."

"She is _not_," Donna said with a stunned intake of breath

"She is!"

"I knew it all along!" Rose whooped cheerily, with a hint of satisfaction. "I never trusted that woman for a second. She's too…"

"Manly?" the Doctor suggested.

"No, I was gonna say…" Rose stopped dead. "Are you saying Paris Hilton is a _man_?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying! Classic Rufyrejoipigon from the planet, well, the planet Rufyrejoipigo_ia_ – exiled forty years ago, crash-landed on Earth thirty years, stumbled upon a crazed fashion fanatic and _bingo_. A couple of genetic modifications, a sex change and a poodle called Noodle later, you get Paris Hilton! Mind you, the only reason she carries Noodles around with her all the time, is because that's her Chameleon Kinetic Biodiscratic Disguise robot – keeps her looking the way she is. If she had dear Noodles away from her for just two seconds…" the Doctor cringed. "You get the picture. The press would run away screaming!"

"Just wait til I tell Nerys about this! She'd have a fit," Donna laughed.

"Same! Keisha would just go… mental! If you don't believe me, ask 'er brother: she even went to audition to be Paris's _British Best friend_!"

"Speaking of Paris…" the Doctor tried and failed to bring the subject up again.

"This is as crazy as when Pigby – Olive's pet pig - killed Sister La Rue! All because of some truffles!" Ned deduced.

All at once, the Time Travellers by the names of Rose, Donna and Doctor stared, in bemusement.

"Aliens can't exist. That's impossible," Chuck said, after a moment of silence.

"Says the person that breaks the rule of Time altogether, by just _standing_ here. It should be physically impossible for you to be alive, I mean a magic finger that can wake the dead for a minute is one thing, but you being alive after your…" the Doctor wracked his brains to find a word that wouldn't offend: settling for the closest. "…mishap on your cruise ship… It has my mind spinning!"

"I'm still not clear on everythin', Doctor," Rose slipped in, before the Doctor continued his life long natter. She was blatantly confused about the entire scenario and each new scrap of information, was like another new page of a book. "'Cos, you keep saying Chuck was dead, _is_ dead, but she's not! She's alive as anythin'; I can see her with my own eyes. How does it work? What do you _mean_?"

"Is she dead or isn't she?" Donna added and looked at Chuck sincerely. "No offence."

"All in good time, Rose, Donna. I'm just getting to the good part! But believe you me; I haven't seen a case like this since the game-station and Jack. But even then… That was just an _accident_; it wasn't meant to happen. It _shouldn't_ have happened. I still can't say, I'm 100% OK, even now. Time Travel – complicated, ol' thing. You never know what you're in for! Kind of like a blind date, if you put it that way. Though: awfully strange phrase that, 'blind date'," the Doctor continued. "I never did understand why it was called a 'blind date'; you certainly don't go blind to the date, do you?

Weeell, unless you're on the planet Jagrahorn, the people have to meet their 'destined' life partner blind, on their first date! Literally! Their eyes are removed for that night only, where they associate by chatting and crashing into things! It's all very strange really, imagine that! No eyes! You could be going out with the Monster from the Lagoon, and you wouldn't even know until you next saw 'em again! How creepy would that be?" He took a deep breath and shared a look with his companions. "I'm going off track again, aren't I?"

The blonde and the redhead both nodded back at him.

"I lied. Ned's got a long way to go. He's got a bigger gob than the whole Universe put together," the girl called Donna whispered to the girl named Rose.

"_Definitely_ the gold," Rose agreed quietly, giggling.

"_So_... Anything to say? Anything concerning Ned's magic finger and _your_ existence, to be precise?"

The mysterious anonymity called the Doctor shrugged and discreetly prompted the silent couple.

"I… We… It…" Ned and Chuck started and stopped, simultaneously, both spluttering out into wide smiles.

"Tell you what! Why don't _I_ do the talking instead!"

"Here we go again," the once London shop girl muttered, nudging Donna with her elbow playfully. Donna grinned back at her.

A sudden inspiration struck her.

"Before you launch into full on geek-chic mode, Doctor, I just wanna say"

"Let's rewind the tapes a bit, shall we. How about, oh I don't know, two years ago. Niece to one Vivian and one Lily Charles, lived isolated from the world in one big, old house in Couer D'Couers, am I right?"

Ned was used to untruthfulness, lured like Hansel and Gretel into the Gingerbread house, to force-feed the people he cared for and knew with lies and excuses, all to hide the power of his magic finger, and the family secrets as a child, young Ned, tried so hard to lock away in the deep, dark cupboard of Secrets.

Whereas young Chuck grew up in a life with her Aunt Vivian and, now conversant mother, Aunt Lily, where they lived in a small, quiet life where there was virtually nothing to hide from each other. Young Chuck grew up tending to her bees, learning that the truth was as blue and bright as the summer sky, whereas lies were as dark as the night sky. But there were exceptions. Exceptions where she had no choice, but to hide the truth and spread lies like butter and jam on toast; exceptions like Olive, like her life, like her _mother_…

"Yes," the nicknamed Dead Girl answered – voice fluent and calm, hiding _almost_ all traces of the dishonesty she was feeding the 'tourist', with just that one single word.

"Lonely child, no parents or many friends, but other than that: happy life, positive attitude, love for bees, countless trophies. No problems at all. But one day, you wanted more, you wanted to reach out into the world and see what was really out there: not from the confinements of your bedroom window and city street,"

"Just wanted to check: this is getting somewhere, right?" Rose interrupted.

"It'd better," Donna warned.

"You went to one _Boutique Travel Travel Boutique_, and although the information is unclear, managed to claim a free ticket on a worldwide Cruise ship, under one condition. You carried something value along with you – the happy Cruise, nothing wrong, until one evening – so they say, you go off to the fridge to collect somethin', when suddenly there's a bag over your head and…"

"I die," Chuck finished, a little sadly.

Donna gazed at the young woman empathically and stepping forward, Rose rested a comforting hand on her arm with Donna next to her.

"You're alive now, that's the most important part," Rose reassured softly.

"Yeah, that and Ned. I wouldn't be here without him," Chuck smiled and passed a glance of tender, loving care at Ned.

"You're not dead. And _that's_ all that matters, isn't that right Doctor?" Donna said firmly and looked for approval from the Time Lord. He didn't respond at all.

"And next thing I know…" Chuck continued.

"Ned's finger has done his 'magic'," the Doctor finished for her.

**&&&&&&&&&**

Two miles east, little Rickoji toddled across the road with a large variety of shoes– avoided being hit by a large, brown car driven somewhat uncontrollably by one large man and one assisting small blonde.

These were the little man's prizes and treasures, so he clutched them tightly to his chest and ambled beneath the feet of the people. He hobbled across a pair of red, yellow and green _Deflectors_, which belonged to one smartly dressed, moustached giant with a black and white suit and chattering away on a metal slab, and was nearly tempted to steal them. But as his grubby, podgy fingers felt the smooth material and he reached down to sniff the delicate, designer leather of this giant's shoes, Rickoji remembered his father's wise words: "_Never steal shoes that have been stolen from the dead. They are not fresh and give unwanted yellow head-hair."_

Cackling smugly at his intellect and large memory span, the green and purple-spotted alien gave the used and 'not fresh' _Deflectors_ a little, solid kick and sprinted off giggling madly.

Subjectively, too small and green to be noticed by the prying eyes of the public, the little, naïve alien hopped onto some grass, disappearing behind a tree and leaving a trail of glittery, light blue dust, as he teleported back to his private HQ.

"_Yes, your Ladyship, of course I'm still in the Museum. No, no, I'm not outside__ – I'm in the, err, café. Yes, yes, I know I should be looking for the shoes that are exactl ylike your deceased Paris's Deflectors--" He wiggled his feet smugly. "—so we can replace them for him. Of course, Lady Elisabeth, the dancing human bananas and plums, shall be arriving at the mansion in an hour's time. Don't worry about it. I'll meet you there, if I can't—OW! Something just kicked me!" the man in black-and-white yelped, snapping his cell phone shut. He looked down just in time to see a little lime-green and purple thing scamper away laughing. _

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**Reviews are luuuurved as much as rubber ducks, reviews and pickled radiators! **

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**OOH! BTW - this'll be updated every Wednesday! Thursday if I've been a baaaad parsnip.. HEHE! =D  
**


	11. Chapter 10 Rowdy Crowds

**A/N:-Famo problemos + rhubarbs + nose bleed from over powerful punch in Jujitsu at ****school + plain laziness = SORRY, CHEESE FOR ALL, and… a late update! Anyways, as always, thanks for your groovily groovy reviews! **

**Disclaimer: If I own Doctor Who, you'd think I'd get**_** some**_** power to control what happened in Torchwood in Day Four, don't you think? Because… WHY IANTO?! WHY?! *releases hounds on the BBC* I already know many peeps who are utterly DEVASTED at the outcome last night, but I thought it was ****CHEESE**** and thrice COOLIO with dandelions! Me say no more, for major spoiler alert. Now…What did YOU think bout it? **

**And as for Pushing Daises; yes, YES, **_**OF COURSE **_**I own it. That's the exact reason why Pushing Daisies is cancelled, and Anna Friel is back in Angleterre. **_**Non.**_** Talk to my psychiatrist. =P**

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Chapter 10 – Rowdy Crowds and Secluded Corners

The Coroner was not a happy man. In fact, for the past one hour, thirteen minutes, and twenty-seven seconds, he was quite the opposite. One reason for this was the operative fact that he couldn't distinguish the differences between blood and metal.

The second reason for this was that, in the one hour, thirteen minutes, and twenty-seven seconds he had sat there, staring at the white washed walls: one Private Investigator, two blondes, one former 'dog expert', one redhead, one optimist, one Golden Retriever – claimed to be professional help, and one skinny excuse of a Big Headed Babble Mouth had walked in. Yet only three of the eight suspicious folk, had evacuated the building. The man known as the Coroner suspiciously suspected that their long visit had something to do with being 'weird'…

Nonetheless, the third reason was still in tact; the third reason being the deaf-awakening and loud fact that the piano piece "Hands on the Wall" had abruptly boomed out of the speaker system - stopping only twenty minutes and three seconds later. This did not please him. Besides, he wanted to have his lunch before the morgue's Body Freezer, _over_-froze his tuna and potato salad. And he couldn't do that, until five Suspicious People vacated the vicinity.

**&&&&&&&&&&**

The facts had been stated, of the eventful life of Charlotte "Chuck" Charles, and all was silent.

For now.

"But, if you're alive, who had to _die_ in your place?" Rose asked suddenly, with slight reproach, to Chuck.

"One Lawrence Schatz," the Doctor provided, "Funeral director."

"But, he was a very, very bad man: he stole stuff off dead people and sold it on the Internet. You can check, it's all in the obituary," Ned stated.

"Oh, so just 'cos he was 'very, very bad', that makes you feel _better_," Donna spat, voice dripping with scorn and disapproval. "Isn't that benevolent."

"That's not right though. You can't just kill someone, and be over with it. Even if he was a scab and grave robber. They have prisons and police for that; not death," Rose argued, agreeing with Donna.

"It helps," Ned continued, "I try not to let it happen, but there are… exceptions. And complications. Childhood dogs like Digby, for one."

"We were right!" Donna and Rose gaped at each other, grinning with shock.

"Runaway dads for another."

"But, Ned, he hasn't run away," Chuck said. "I'm his Button; he wouldn't do that to me. He's here, watching out for me, I can feel it. Besides, remember that button I found? And that time when you and Olive were just about to fall into the ravenous realms of the sea, and a bandaged figure helped you up?"

"I'm not even gonna ask," Rose said.

"Pretend I'm Ned," Donna started, "And I'm prancin' about with my magic finger--"

"Which is physically and theoretically impossible, to begin with," the Doctor cut in crudely. But if looks could kill, the Time Lord would've been reduced to a pile of banana mush and custard, by the four pairs of beady eyes "staring" at him.

"I don't _prance_ either," Ned added.

"So, it's like a maths sum," Donna verified, eyes narrowed in bewilderment and fingers bent, as she ticked off the facts as she saw them. "My magic fingerplus dead body equals second life, no touch, and death for another?"

The Doctor nodded wildly. "Yup."

"Alrigh' then, prove it," Donna stated decisively and crossed her arms, nodding at Ned. "Ned."

"Prove what to you? You already know and saw my power, gift, curse, magic in the happening. You saw what I could do, when you three, very rudely and intrusively, burst into the room and set off Emerson's impatience," Ned reminded hurriedly.

"It could've been a hoax, or some sick joke, for all we know."

Chuck frowned and inclined her head to one side slightly, reasoning, "Why would we set up a hoax, involving the morbid act of using a dead body and making it walk and talk, like a twisted ventriloquist; when we didn't even know you were going to come here, in the first place?"

"You wanted to see someone faint? You're Soothsayers in disguise? You're _aliens_? Do I look like I know?" Donna tried with an air of defiance. She sighed and rubbed her forehead jadedly. "I jus' want to make sure that I'm not dreaming, and this is _real_. Non-fiction real. GMTV real. Now real. Real, real!"

"Anyone got some fruit?" Ned asked, surrendering. "A dead one?"

The Doctor rummaged around in his coat pockets.

"Just a minute," A pause. "Where's my KitKat gone? Yes, yes, I know you need a fruit, not a chocolate bar, but I'm absolutely positively 102 percent sure that I--" A sniff. "Ah. Faint traces of animal Deoxyribonucleic acid," A pout. "Digby," An exclamation. "_Anyway_!" An elated cheer. "Will a half-mouldy banana do?"

**&&&&&&&&&&**

One minute, one seconds passed. There was a small gasp, as the vase of pastel-coloured lilies, in the corner wilted almost instantly – the lush greens and soft yellows decaying into dark, uneven browns and olive greens.

Ned promptly tapped the vibrant, yellow banana again and suddenly it flashed bright blue, changing back into its previous mouldy, rotting black form.

"Do you believe me now?"

"Ye--"

"Oh, HELLO!" the Doctor exclaimed happily, as all eyes swiftly turned to the one man occupying the doorframe. His voice was high; feigning innocence and "subtly" displaying that there was nothing out of the ordinary being said, or in the happened.

"Ya'll have to leave," the Coroner said suddenly in his usual monotonous tone, and gazed around the room, unfazed. He stepped into the little room, emotionless with hands by his sides – as usual. He jerked his thumbs behind him, left and right, to two burly men-in-black. "I got him and him to help me."

**&&&&&&&&&&**

They all filed out the building. Ned and Chuck kept to themselves, chatting away quietly, just a couple of metres away from them.

"Cheryl Cole?"

"Yup!"

"Johnny Depp?"

"I'll say no more! You decide."

"Kylie?" Donna asked.

"Nah! 'Course not!" A dramatic pause. "Just half cyborg."

Donna nearly missed a step. Rose practically stumbled.

"Simon Cowell?"

"Originates from the City of Austere Critic. Member of the Board. Tough, heartless critics them. Suckers for optimism. I should know – argued with the Mayor. Got put into prison."

"Jordan?" Rose tried.

The Doctor merely raised an eyebrow, "I'd have thought the fact was blaring, right from the start."

"Don't you _dare_ say Leo DeCaprio's alien! He's not alien, righ_t_? _Right_, Doctor?!" Donna exclaimed, almost pleadingly.

"Nope, good ol' Leo's as alien as aliens can get! Big cheat, actually. Uses aphrodisiac perfume."

A look of pure shock passed both Rose's face.

"You. Are. _Joking_!" exclaimed Donna, eyes wide.

"How else did you think he attracts all those women? Charm?"

"I'm never lookin' at Leo in the same way again," Rose sniffed, hands up in mock surrender.

"Remind me to slap 'im, next time we happen to visit Hollyw--"

SNEAKERSS ARE _DISAPPEARING_! LATEST ROBBERY AT SNEAKER EXHIBITION!" a young boy screamed crazily, as he ran wildly into view, arms flailing and legs akimbo. Suddenly, he whipped out a tall pile of newspapers from goodness knows where – he certainly didn't have a bag in sight. "READ ALL ABOUT IT!"

"Trainers? Robberies? What happened to the bees?" Donna said, rolling her eyes.

"How much?" the Doctor asked the boy, producing some junk from his pocket. "I've got a torch, three and a half buttons, a half-eaten ham sandwich, two pennies and marble."

"Two dollars," the boy replied decisively, clambering up a couple of steps.

"Anyone?" the Doctor prompted the four others behind and next to him.

Chuck rifled through her coat pockets – sunglasses and scarf already on.

"I think I've got some change," Chuck replied.

"He's a rubbish date," Rose supplied, grinning.

"I'll give you one dollar fifty."

"One dollar eighty."

"Seventy," Chuck bargained.

"Seventy-five."

"Seventy-six or no deal."

"Seventy-nine, or you won't get to read 'bout the alien."

"Alien, did you say?" the Doctor interrupted.

Faster than Pigby could've sniffed out truffles, the boy had already flung the newspaper at Ned's head, scooped one dollar and _eighty_ cents off Chuck's hand, and bolted. The Doctor's eyes skimmed the newspaper headline and sped-read the news story.

"Additional to the several hundred or so posters of missing shoes; we've got 783338 missing shoes in our hands. 3338 alone have gone missing in the Papen County and Couer D'Couers regions. They all seem to have been happening in the past couple of ideas."

Donna sighed and said, "What the Doctor's trying to say is…"

"We've got some snooping to do," Rose completed.

**&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Chuck, have I ever told you that I was claustrophobic?" Ned asked Chuck, as the Doctor pushed them into the busy Muse Museum, which was heaving with overly obsessive Trainer Fanatics.

"Not that I remember," came her subtle reply.

"Would now be the right time to tell you?"

"_MY SNEAKERS HAVE GONE MISSING_!" a woman yelled through the crowd, and that was all it took.

The mental alarm was triggered… and the correct answer to the Pie Maker's question was a pure, blatant _no_. Ruthless and obsessive, the crowd's panic rose and the merciless struggle of shoving, pushing, and screaming commenced. It was every man, woman or dog for his/her/its shoe.

**&&&&&&&&&&**

"They're goin' crazy!" Rose shouted, as she watched a dog and young girl fight for a pink ballet shoe.

"Too many shoes have gone missing in the past couple of. The loss of more shoes, amidst the event of one great, _big_ Trainer Exhibition, has only gone and set the crowd off!" the Time Lord explained, to no-one in particular, raking a hand through his hair. "I think our Trainer Thief is asking for trouble."

"It's the SHOE APOCALYPSE!" a grown man blurted in Donna's face and then bent down to whip the heavy, brown shoes off his feet, practically shoving them in Donna's face. "SAVE YOURSELVES!"

And he ran off, clutching his shoes tightly to his chest.

"This lot 'ave gone bonkers!" cried Donna.

"Where're Ned an' Chuck?" Rose burst out, remembering that they had come as a five, but were now just a three.

"_There_!" the Doctor shouted, jerking an arm at the blazes of bright yellow and woollen green, somewhere in the thriving horde of infuriate, worried, desperate people.

**&&&&&&&&&**

"Find a nice, _empty_, secluded corner and just… wait!" Ned and Chuck heard/saw the Doctor direct them, who was evidently caught up with Rose and Donna, amidst the raving crowd. "We'll meet you there!"

The last flash of his tall, brown hair dissolved into the frenzied, panicking mob of people and the hunt for the empty, secluded corner began.

**&&&&&&&&&&**

Hot on the trail, Olive and Emerson had deduced that the alien had definitely came from the west regions of the Papen County. They had also deduced that the only possible place which could've stocked enough shoes and sneakers, or had so many people (wearing shoes) crowded into it, was _Muse Museum_ where the great Sneaker Exhibition was to be held.

"I don't do dumb ideas, and this jus' happens to be a dumb idea," Emerson grunted, shuffling three centimetres into Muse Museum, before backing out again and turning to face Olive and Digby. "It's busier than China Town in there. An' it looks like some sorta angry mob's forming."

"What, is it the pitchforks, angry citizens, and blazing torches of fire type of mob?" Olive asked eagerly.

"No, it's the screaming, neurotic addicts, and talking about trainers type o' mob."

"Aren't you going in, Emerson?"

"No, I jus' told you; I don't do dumb ideas."

"Emerson, are you scared of mobs?"

"No," Emerson lied, letting his pupils casually wander to one side.

"Then why aren't you going in?"

"You go in, first."

"No, _you _go in first."

"No, _you _go in fir--"

"C'mon, Digby," Olive said, with a roll of her eyes. "let's go in and kick some butt," she looked at Emerson. "Emerson, you keep guard of the car."

"Hell, no. I ain't some sorta guard dog; that's Digby job. I'm coming with you."

With that, the tiny waitress tugged gently on Digby's collar and led them in, immediately absorbed into the bustling, raving, hysterical crowd – followed sluggishly one reluctant Emerson Cod.

**&&&&&&&&&&**

"Look, Ned. Over there!" Chuck informed loudly and pointed to a spot in a corner. It was, in fact, a nice, empty, and secluded. Just what the Doctor ordered too.

"So, what do we do now?" Ned said, standing quietly next to Chuck in the corner.

The Pie Maker watched as the crow grew more and more possessive and unruly: the requested police had dived for cover under tables, as people scuttled off clutching shoes to their chests, children crawled giggling across the carpet, sneakers were being chucked about the place, and neither the Doctor, Rose, or Donna were anywhere in sight.

"We wait."

**&&&&&&&&&&**

In the meanwhile, Emerson and Olive had trundled across the path of one Miriam Mangotsfield: victimised and shoeless. They had introduced themselves as Private Investigators, and Emerson was busy in the likes of questioning.

"So, could you describe to me _who _exactly stole your shoes, ma'am?" Emerson questioned.

"I— I-- I don't know!" Miriam stammered, sobbing. "One minute I had my shoes and the next: I felt this little kick, tripped over, and my shoes were gone!"

Olive tucked a comforting arm around her. "There, there…"

"Sorry, did you jus' say that you felt a _little ki_--"

"We already have a slight suspicion of _what_ stole your sneakers – and we're thinking small, green, and spotty," Olive construed.

Miriam jumped out of Olive's hold and shook her head in disapproval.

"What?" Olive protested, "It's true. There we were, me and Emerson, just driving along when WHAM! This green and purple spotted alien came hobbling across the road, and guess what it was carrying? _Shoes_!"

"And I thought you were taking this seriously!" She suddenly gasped, "I know what you want: you want my shoes! _MY_ SHOES!? You… You… SCABS!"

"Itty Bitty, you did it again," Emerson growled and slapped his face, resigned and exasperated.

If anything, Olive Snook seemed to be ignoring this query and chugging along her own conversational train at 120 miles per hour, next stop, trouble.

"But, how can we steal your shoes, if you aren't wearing any shoes? You're shoe_less_ and that's why we 're trying to help you find them," A rail in her train tracks snapped in half. "Sheesh woman, I wouldn't even want your shoes anyway! No offence, lady, but judging by your bad taste in sock colour – your sneakers are as ugly as Hell. So, you should just shut up and--"

"GUYS!" Miriam yelled, "THESE _SCABS_ ARE TRYING TO STEAL MY SHOES! _MY. SHOES!"_

A ripple of silence flooded the room, and all of a sudden, the thunderous roars of over ten dozen pairs of feet thudded towards the P.I. and the Itty Bitty.

"GEEEEEEEEET 'EM!"

"Uh-oh," Olive muttered.

"You think?"

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**A/N:- Next chap up Wednesday. I'm almost one hundred and ten piglets certain, this time! Lolz!**** :S Soz for the short-ish chappie! **

**You know…There is a vair vair pretty white&green button below you know. Press it, and YOU RULE THE WORLD!!! *nods constantly* Me is being vair honest.**


	12. Chapter 11 Cheating On Bananas

**A/N:- Blub, blub, blub, blub. Can't thinkies of what to say… Except that, I am in dire need of a proofreading session with myself. I shall book an appointment tomorrow. And I'll rob Ryuk too. Well, before Light finds out and murders me. I may ****rob his Death Note too - just in case.**

**Disclaimer: Hello! You know the answer by now. If you don't… I'll ****NEVER**** tell you! You can be left to bask in the closet of Hidden Secrets FOREVER more… MWAHAHAHAHAPPYHAHAHA! Ahem. HEEHAW. =D**

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Chapter 11

"AAAARGH!" a random man screamed, right into Ned's face, exposing the stunned Pie Maker to the reeking stench of onion, onion, and a hint of onion. The random man cared to eye the bewildered Pie Maker suspiciously, before he ran off to be gobbled up by the mob of people.

The Pie Maker stiffened. "Chuck, why is there a murderous-looking mob charging towards that particularly designated spot twenty-five metres away?" Ned gabbled, but when only the war cries of the crazed crowd met his ringing ears, he gulped and looked to the left. "Chuck?"

But the girl named Chuck had, in fact, disappeared... into the ravenous realms of the unanimously crazed crowd.

**&&&&&&&&&**

One minute and seventeen seconds earlier, a red and white polka-dot clad arm had reached out from the suddenly congregated crowd, and coincidentally found itself tangled up, in the long, wavy coils of one Charlotte Charles's hair.

Whilst Ned had been pensively rabbiting on about: disappearing sneakers, pies, and one particular day in Longborough School for Boys, where an unfortunately complicated scenario involving chewing gum, a bent crowbar, and a saltshaker had taken place – Chuck had been plucked out of the nice, secluded corner, and into the _not_-nice, vast crowd.

"Hello, my name's Jonathan Jones, it's very nice to meet you. And isn't this a lovely day for mobbing people?" a curly, brown haired man fitted in cravat, polka dotted shirt, and waistcoat said brightly to her.

"Hello, my name's Chuck, and it's nice to meet you too!" Chuck introduced, still being frantically ushered forward by the crowd. "Yes, it is a lovely day for mobbing people - if you're not a pacifist, of course. Um, Mr Jones, would you mind disentangling your hand from my hair?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry about that. I was trying to reach for my little girl, but found yours instead," Jonathan Jones muttered sheepishly, disentangling his arm from Chuck's hair.

Chuck looked at him quizzically for a moment, but stopped and tore her gaze away, when she remembered it wasn't polite to stare. Instead, whilst shuffling and getting shoved along, she poked her head out of the crowd – scanning the area for a way out. When proven unsuccessful, Chuck sighed and tapped Jonathan Jones on the shoulder.

"Is there any way out of this mob? I normally wouldn't ask but it's just, I have a friend back there, who's probably waiting for me," Chuck explained.

"_Oh_," Jonathan replied, and suddenly looked crestfallen. "So, you're not here for the mob, then? I was looking forward to mobbing with you."

Chuck shook her head, but Jonathan suddenly brightened up a little and shrugged. "Ah well! There's always a next time," Jonathan dismissed. "You won't be missing out on too much, but I'll try to save a bit of shoe for you." He paused, musing, before he spoke again, "There's no way out, you just have to let the crowd push and shove you along, until you get to the front. _Then_ you can squeeze out through the gaps and go find your friend."

"Thanks for your help, and I hope you find your little girl," Chuck said to him, shaking his hand. She started to walk off, when a thought struck her, and the girl named Chuck turned back to face the man called Jonathan. "Who are we supposed to be mobbing?"

"It's only some shoe scabs we're going after, this time: nobody special. Just a Private Eye, and a blonde waitress, I heard."

Chuck let the man's words roll in her head, as she nudged and pardoned herself through the muttering, crazed mob-crowd.

"_Private Eye and a blonde waitress…_ I'm sure I've heard those words before," she pondered aloud, and faster than Emerson could sniff out money, the realisation struck her. "Emerson and Olive!"

**&&&&&&&&&**

Lonely and confused, the Doctor was swept deeper and deeper into the pit of the mob-crowd, where the angriest, craziest, and passionate off the mob lay waiting.

The facts were these: though the expression bewildered him greatly, the nine-hundred year old Time Lord had concluded that mob-crowds were definitely not his cup of tea. Well. At least _not_, when compared to bananas, or when missing three good, heaped spoonfuls of sugar. Or rather, _four_ spoonfuls, in this case, - as not only were the two spoonfuls of sugar called "Ned" and "Chuck" missing, but so too were the two spoonfuls of sugar by the names of "Donna" and "Rose". You see, while being ridden like surfboards on waves through the horde of people, like surfboards can sometimes be washed astray, the time travellers by the names of Rose and Donna had been washed away too. Away from the Time Lord, and into the thriving, vast unknowns… of the mob.

Suddenly, the Time Lord spotted _it_ glinting in the distance. The Doctor gasped; as he saw, the most terrible and devastating sight ahead. It was a sight that shouldn't have even been qualified to be seen by the naked eye. The small, yet significant _thing_, that one clearly fearless, possessed, and clearly irrational fellow, male mob-member was carrying, glared at the Time Lord evilly – its ruthless doom and gloom reflected into the Doctor eyes. The Doctor shivered.

The alien called the Doctor gulped fearfully and screwed his eyes tightly, as the Evil Being manoeuvred its somewhat drunk, somewhat possessed carrier his way – ever closer. The possessed, drunk man staggered towards him, arms swaying about, and the Evil Being lurking evilly in his hands – obviously controlling the man towards him. The poor fellow.

The Time Lord was shoved forward, by the uninformed currently crowd, closer and closer to _it_. Its name was too horrible to say. Self-pitying and cringing, the Doctor grimaced and reluctantly stumbled forward, preparing to be confronted face-to-face with one of the most terrible of creations – the one thing that put the fruits of the Universe to shame.

The pear. _Cider_ form…

**&&&&&&&&&**

Washed away by the waves, Donna and Rose were reluctantly thrown about from person to person…

"Does anyone know where the gift shop is?"

Shoe fanatic to shoe fanatic…

"I'm only in it for the SHOES!"

Stink breath to stink breath…

"I VANT TO STEAL ZOUR SHOES!"

Crazed mob-member to crazed mob member…

"One dose of my sea shanty, and them shoe scabs'll be screaming, they will! _Screaming_, I tell you!"

Until, at last, three _very_ helpful pairs of hands gave them one almighty shove, and brought them back to shore, where they met one fretful and nervous Ned stood in one nice, secluded corner.

"Thanks for the ride!" Rose yelled back to the mob-crowd, as the hands (of the anonymities) waved them away and submerged back into the crowds.

"_Noooooo_ problem!" three wavering male voices replied, concurrently.

"Lost Chuck?" Donna asked Ned, as soon as she'd steadied herself on the floor and smoothed down the wrinkles of her creased clothes. Rose joined her.

Ned nodded and reciprocated, **"**You lost the Doctor?"

"Yeah," Donna said simply.

"C'mon then," Rose nodded her head to the East side of the exhibition, where a large, pristine, empty shoe gallery awaited them.

Ned just stared at her enquiringly, blinking.

"According to a very reliable source--" Donna began.

"Who happen to be called Matilda and Mathew Manderson," Rose continued.

"--That mob's not gonna be over with for a while. Apparently, they're mobbing some "shoe scabs" who tried to trick somebody out of their shoes or something. But I dunno, I still reckon they're all bonkers," Donna explained.

"Chuck an' "His Lordship"won't be allowed out of the mob, until it's over."

"We only got out by chance."

"So, there's no point hangin' about here. There's that murder to solve, righ'?"

Donna and Rose started walking off, but they stopped when they realised Ned wasn't following them and was still standing in the corner.

Rose raised an eyebrow. "You comin' or what?"

"But the Doctor said to wait here – in this nice, secluded corner, until he came back," Ned answered. "I'm sure he didn't want me to wonder off. He probably wanted you to wait here too."

Donna heaved a sigh, "Since when did anyone listen to what the Doctor said?"

"Me?" Ned tried.

"Wrong answer."

Ned looked worried – _very_ worried. "Usually, when women say that, it means they're up to something."

"Usually, when men say _that_, they're being sexist," Rose retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't mean to--"

Donna smirked, knowledgeably.

"'Course you didn't."

Rose grinned the same wicked grin.

Both rolling their eyes and grabbing an arm each, much to Ned's confusion and unawareness, Donna and Rose forcefully dragged him off with them – whether he liked it or not.

**&&&&&&&&**

"Was it really necessary to insult her like that?" Emerson inquired hurriedly, as Miriam stepped back and watched the crazed crowd come roaring toward them.

"Yes," Olive replied, sniffing. "I don't regret one minute of it."

"THEY'RE OVER HERE!" Miriam shouted, using wild, ostentatious arm flails to pinpoint Emerson and Olive.

"_Grrr…_" Digby growled viciously, at their newfound audience.

"Even with that murderous mob of a crazed crowd stormin' up to us, with their ruthless glares, thunderous pitter-patter of feet, and unnatural shoe obsessions?"

"Yep."

"So, ya couldn't have been a bit subtle and stopped at her shoes?"

"Nope."

The mob-crowd had arrived.

"DON'T THINK FOR A SECOND! THEY'RE DOWNRIGHT SHOE SCABS!" Miriam yelled, stirring up the crowd and using what was known as mob psychology.

"_YEAH!_" the crowd yelled back, in unison.

"THEY'LL STEAL _YOUR_ SHOES IF YOU LET 'EM GET AWAY!"

"_YEAH!"_

"D'YOU WANT THAT?"

"YEA— _NO_!"

"D'you mind shouting a little QUIETER?" Olive inquired from Miriam, sticking her fingers in her ears to block out the woman's yelling.

"_YEAH_!" declared Miriam, directly yelling in Olive's ear. "I'LL SHOUT AS LOUD AS I WANT!"

"She _really_ hates you," Emerson commented, concealing a smirk and arching his brows instead.

Olive shot him a harsh, vicious glare and glowered forebodingly.

Emerson put his hands up innocently. "I didn't do nothin'." He bent down a little, and beckoned Digby in, to form a little three-person circle. He muttered, "Now we need to think o' a plan." Olive's eyes sparked and she put her hand up, but Emerson glared at her sceptically. "A _good_ plan," he instructed. Olive pouted, dropping her hand. "_Now_.Any ideas, before murderous mob number one start attackin'?"

Digby barked several times. But, thanks to Simone and her dog Bubblegum constantly tagging along, with them, when they went out, Emerson managed to translate it as: "What are they attacking _with_?"

"Good point. Let me just check," Emerson agreed and raised his head, for a moment. "'Scuse me, Miss Miriam?"

Miriam glared at him. "What?!"

"What would the crowd be attackin' us _with_, exactly?"

Miriam turned to the crowd, and conferred with them, in small inaudible mutters.

A couple of grunts, mumbles and yells, from the crowd, later: Miriam replied, "Shoes."

Emerson bent his head down, and Digby barked some more; too bored to translate, Olive took over Emerson's job.

"Digby said…" Olive continued.

"Wha' type of shoes?" Emerson asked, this time.

More conferring. "Any."

"And the rotten apples?"

Mutter. Mutter. Mutter.

"GRANNY SMITHS!" a member of the crowd yelled, on behalf of Miriam.

"_Granny Smiths_?! Oh, hell no!"

**&&&&&&&&&**

The crowd had suddenly stopped, and there was a whole lot of yelling going on. The Doctor suspected that they had reached their mobbing destination, as good as it was not being shoved and pushed and cascaded around; the crowd stopping meant only one thing.

Space to move. Space for one possessed, drunken man to come randomly hurtling forward. Space for one _pear_ cider to be wafted under his very nose.

The possessed, drunk man stumbled and propelled himself forward, now practically face to face with the grimacing and aghast Doctor. There were dozens of people to go and provoke, so why him? Why a totally, _totally_ innocent Time Lord, of all people, to target, carrying a bottle containing one of the foulest fruits ever created, no _the_ foulest fruit ever created?

"Yoooooouuuu wanna shoooooooe, _mate_?" the drunken man slurred in a thick Texan accent, swishing his cider about. He had obviously had too much to drink, well that was judging by _not_ the pear, but the several, empty cans of alcohol bulging out of his pockets. It was either that a "pear cider" bottle looked _extremely_ shoe-like in appearances, or this man was clearly delusional.

The Doctor chose the latter, and wrinkled his nose in distaste – the scent of pear was _really_ getting to him now. Darn his super Time Lord senses. "I'll pass," he said curtly, not at all bothering to be polite.

"Noooo," the man continued, sloshing the contents of half-full/half-empty bottle around. "Everyone in the mob must 'ave a shoooooooe." The drunk man pushed the bottle up to his face, squishing the Time Lord's nose. "Taaaaaaaake it then. I said takes it."

_Phwoar_. Now that seriously did stink. If it smelt _that_ bad, the Doctor imagined how bad it would taste in his mouth. A shiver ran down his spine.

The Doctor backed away, and put his hands up in surrender. "Right, no need to be hasty."

"Are yoooooouuuu insulting ma shoooooooe?!" the man exclaimed, advancing. Everybody else was too busy shouting "Yeah!" and "Shoes!" and "Granny Smith" to bother about this drunk man, so the Doctor was on his own.

"No, I just don't fancy a--"

_Too little too late__, Doctor._

The randomly drunk, possessed, and ridiculously _irrational _man had lunged forward, the cap of the bottle had mysteriously unscrewed itself and thudded to the floor with a slow-motioned _THWACK_. And then… the clear liquid contents of the bottle had found itself hurtling out of the bottle, tearing into and across the air, and onto the Doctor's unsuspecting face – all in the space of two mere seconds.

_Splash. _

The Doctor's face was drenched.

"Now _that_ is what you call plain unfair."

He guffawed sarcastically; as he peeled his eyes back open, only to find them sticky and horrible. Like a wet dog, he tried to shake his head free of the horrendous pear liquid, but only in vain. The pear cider simply stuck to him, and refused to come off, no matter how desperately the Time Lord rubbed, scrubbed, and shook. The stench of pear and cider clung to him, its cringe worthy existence stubbornly making the Doctor's unruly hair cling onto the sides of his face, and causing him to grimace in disgust. How would he ever look at another banana again, knowing that he'd betrayed their kind by coming into contact with pear?

"_CHARGE!" _

Those were the first and last words that the Doctor heard, before the crowd was off again: running, shouting, and shoe-obsessed. The pear cider thrower, however, was _nowhere_ to be seen.

**&&&&&&&&&**

_{{translated into English}}_

'_You've too many shoes. Don't you think you've collected enough shoes already?' _the voice in the back of Rickoji's head grumbled. _'Especially from this, what the humans call, "museum".'_

As Rickoji teleported into right at the very back of the suspiciously desolate shoe exhibition, he stopped and cocked his triangular-shaped head to one side. _Too many_ shoes?

'_Don't listen to him. He's just jealous. Remember and continue your father's legacy. Collect more! MORE! MORE! MORE!'_

"MORE! MORE! MORE!" Rickoji repeated, cackling with glee.

He hummed to himself, as he produced a bright purple laser gun and set to work.

"First Rickoji open glass!" he pressed down on a red trigger and a beam of heat neatly cut a circle in the glass, which was _currently_ encasing Michael Jackson's shoes. "Next Rickoji jump in!" The purple and green alien leapt through the small circle. "Now Rickoji sniff for bad smell, and THEN if shoe goooood, Rickoji take. TAKE! TAKE! TAKE!" The short, squat alien sniffed the shoes, confirmed that they were "fresh", and plucked the pair of snazzy, white-and-gold shoes off their stand. "SHOES MAAAIIINE NOW!" And Rickoji followed suit to chuck the shoes onto the floor, to start his pile.

Little did dear, young Rickoji know, he had company.

**&&&&&&&&&**

They passed about two to three dozen empty cases on one side of the gallery, leaving Ned, Rose, and Donna to instinctively deduce that that was where their infamous Trainer/sneaker Thief had struck. They moved down a few aisles, to where the glass cases still bore shoes aplenty.

"Pamela Penzance. Justin Kase. Kathryn Cortisone. Lara Lipinski. Amanda Agankiss. Norberta Rattinson. Ben Dover. Barnaby Darnstance. Seymour Butz. Hugh Jass. Oliver Clothesoff. Georgia Jockey. Chris Cross…" Ned read off the name plaques drearily, as they passed each glass- encased celebrity pair of shoes.

"Oliver Clothesoff? Anita Bath? Hugh_ Jass_? Celebrities?" Rose chuckled. "I've heard them on the _Simpsons_! Is this some sorta joke?" She eyed a pair of brown and black platforms, belonging to one Anita Bath. "Though I like those sandals."

"No," Ned said seriously, not catching the joke. "They're all real celebrities, and famous people."

"Fat lot o' good they are, if they really are celebrities. Never heard of them," Donna inquired, with a laugh, rereading each name plaque. "Not one. Never heard or _seen_ any of those shoe brands either."

"That's because this side is obviously for shoes, belonging to people originating from the Papen County and Couer D'Couers regions," Ned explained matter-of-factly. He then pointed to yet another large, empty area starting towards the very back of the white room, glancing warily around the room. "The film stars are probably down there."

Donna meandered down there quickly, leaving Rose and Ned to admire the shoes. She reached the back wall, turned right, and walked towards the large, white archway, when she saw it… Donna stopped in her tracks. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened, not in fear, but in surprise: if this were two years earlier, when she'd been _completely_ oblivious to extra-terrestrial life, Donna would've screamed. But now, she was awed and utterly amazed, just definitely not scared. In fact, this sight looked… cute. She crouched, poking her head around the corner, watching.

"Rose! Ned!" she hissed quietly, and beckoned them over hastily. Donna put a finger to her lips and nodded at them to come forth.

Rose came first, as quiet as possible, with Ned following slowly behind. What was going on?

Donna grinned at them and ushered them both closer, as Rose seemed cautious and tentative at first. "Get a loada this!" she stared at Ned warningly, mentally assessing the chances. "You! Stay _there_," she whispered to Ned decisively, having come to her decision.

She guessed that Ned probably _wasn't_ ready for a purple-and-lime-green spotted alien _yet_, magic finger or not. He'd probably scare the strange, yet adorably cute alien off…

Rose tip-toed the remaining couple of metres, and crooked her head to where Donna was looking. She gasped, almost silently, at the strange spectacle, then smiled and looked back to Donna.

"I think we've found our thief," Rose whispered.

"Yep."

"The Doctor is gonna _love_ this!"

"Love what?!" Ned intruded, determined to know. The Pie Maker ambled forwards, and bent his head to look, at whatever they were looking at, too.

"_NO_!" Rose and Donna hissed, in unison

Too late.

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**A/N:- ****MEEP! OK, you've probably all noticed by now, BUT I COULDN'T RESIST SOME OF THOSE NAMES! **

**Soz, I hate to admit it, but I rushed the end, so I'm not too sure about it. Need to work on my English homework. Sadly. **

**You know what to do.**** Review.**

**Ooh****, and this chapter remains Title****less, ****as I am too uninspired, to think up one for myself. Suggestions loved. **


	13. Chapter 12 Pensioners And Their Grannies

**A/N:- Blame the vacuum cleaner, the ****paint, the door, unpacked rooms, the guests, the wallpaper, the carpet. Yesh - and yes I did say yesh – that is what life is like when the contents of your piggy bank have mysteriously… disappeared into thin air (I'm telling you, it's Arthur Weasley! He's nicking all my Muggle belongings and money! If you don't believe me, ask NORBETA the dragon!), and your parents have a guest house, for a living. Me be staying in Brizzle for the ENTIRE summer hols, so you know…*sighs* **

**Many thanksies for your groovy reviews! BIG thanksies to LuckyBlackCat for the cheesetastic title suggestions, and more BIG thanksies EleBrother for the title-idea suggestion! Had to resort to a round or two of Nutcracker Crack, to decide… Hehe!**

**SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SHOO NOW if you don't want spoilers! HEHE! It's official, but they couldn't have made it more obvious in PotD… Ooh, didn't I tell you parsnips? The Master's returning! Officially! YAYZEE! You gotta love that evil, loony maniac! I hope it's not SoD/LotT all over again though… That would just be boring! ;D**

**HEEHAW! You ****HAVE**** to try iGod. Type it in on Google and click on the first result. Tis so funny, and full of hilariosity!**

_**Eg: **_

_**Me:**_

_**You are a baby!**_

_**God:**_

_**Don't call me "baby". I will mention that to my botmaster.**_

_**Me:**_

_**I'll call you what I like. Baby. Baby. Baby.**_

_**God:**_

_**My name is God. Don't call me baby! Don't call me baby! Don't call me baby!**_

_**Me:**_

_**Can I talk to Jesus?**_

_**God:**_

_**They are having a private chat right now.**_

_**Me:**_

_**Who are "they"?**_

_**God:**_

"_**They" are**__** not one's business. "They" could also represent the Bible and Mel Gibson, for instance.**_

_**Me:**_

_**IS Jesus your husband?**_

_**God:**_

_**It depends on whether you have faith.**_

_**Me:**_

_**What does that mean?**_

_**God:**_

_**Does "that" refer to "**__**It depends on whether you have faith." ?**_

_**Me:**_

_**Yes.**_

_**God:**_

_**I don't want to talk about that now.**_

_**Me;**_

_**WHY?**_

_**God:**_

_**It is strictly private and confidential.**_

_**Me:**_

_**OO-ER**__**!**_

**Many thanksies and flying goldfish, for ****all you cheesetastic reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: [I own Pushing Daisies and Doctor Who. I bought 'em off eBay last night, for a pack of Top Trumps and a turnip. OOH LOOK, is it a bird, is it a plane, no it's a monkey!] No, I don't.**

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Chapter 12 – Of Pensioners, Aliens, And a Large, Gaping Hole

Ned squeaked; his eyes widened, and the words that spilled out of his mouth were nervous, fast, and gibberish. "Its'eitherI'vegonementalorthereisapurpleangreenspot- tedalienwalkingtalkingandstealingshoesorI'mhallucinating."

"Come again?" Rose prompted.

But the Pie Maker's words had already reached out across the room, and reached the ears of one purple and green alien, by the name of Rickoji. Stunned and petrified, the dwarf-sized alien dropped the high-heels belonging to one Amy Winehouse. He turned around to face the worried Pie Maker.

The alien's and Ned's eyes locked.

"Ah!" squeaked the alien, in a strangled cry.

"Ah!" squealed Ned, in an instinctive reaction.

"_AAAAAAH_!" they shrieked together.

"Rickoji GO!" the squat, podgy alien squeaked. He reached for the watch-like device on his wrist, and his hand flitted down to press the teleportation button…

"Wait!" Rose shouted, just in time. "Don't go. We come in… in… _peace_! We're not gonna hurt you, or anythin'."

The purple and green creature paused, and tilted its head to one side to observe the strange being. "Rickoji thought Giants speak only human, but you Giant speak Rickoji's language?"

Rose froze, and her pupils swam from side to side, before she nodded slowly. "Err… yeah."

Ned's eyes practically bulged out to the size tennis balls. "B— But, he's speaking English! American English. I can hear him--"

"No. Giants are speaking Rickoji's language!" the alien piped up.

Ned's brain started drinking in the fact that there was a real live alien, standing in front of him, and accepting things as he saw them. Moreover, things shouldn't be as shocking as they first seemed, because 1) he could bring back the dead, and 2) he saw a blue box disappear, into thin air!

"You're speaking English!" the Pie Maker fought back.

"Rickoji's language!"

"English!"

"Rickoji's language!"

"English!"

"Rickoji's language!"

"Eng--"

"Well, how's this for gossip, you're _both_ wrong!" Donna cut in, fed up. She turned to Ned. "You're not speaking R— Rick's language," The alien giggled gleefully. Donna turned to Rick. Yes, Rick. Rick was a nice name. At least, better than the name she couldn't remember properly. "And you're not speaking Ned's language – I mean, English, either."

Both alien and human stared at her, in confusion. "What?!"

Donna paused, before she backed out quickly. How was she supposed to explain to them about a Time Machine called the TARDIS, which happened to be disguised as a blue London police box, and belonged to the Doctor, because he's a Time Lord, not to mention, ooh, TARDIS could also translate different languages for you?!

Donna had the answer. _She_ wasn't.

"Rose, how'd you like to be spokesperson?"

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"You still got them restrainin' orders?" the Private Investigator asked Olive.

"If you're trying to take advantage of my self-defensive skills, to ward off the murderously murderous mob, the answer's no…" Olive said quickly. Emerson opened his mouth to speak, but the waitress got there first. "Because; one more restraining order and I'm busted into a jail cell with rats, for three months."

"Dang it," Emerson grunted, shoulders drooped to his sides.

"You got a gun?"

"No."

Olive Snook mirrored the P.I's former actions.

"_WOOF_!" Digby barked, bringing them back into the reality scenario of angry mobs and one mad Miriam. The crowd grew ever closer, their roaring and rivalling ever louder, as they ganged up on the Private Eye, the waitress, and the Retriever.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

The facts were these: one Doctor, Time Lord, was 903 years, 24 weeks and sticky and uncomfortable, when he grumpily shuffled his way through the crowd of angered citizens, using one Sonic Screwdriver, in a vain attempt, to rid the offending sticky essence of pear cider that mercilessly clung to his face...

"What do you mean you _can't _dry up the being-that-shall-not-and-will-not-be-named, that is _very _rudely clinging onto my face?!" The well-known expression of a stroppy three-year-old, who couldn't get his way, huffily adorned the Time Lord's face, as he crossed his arms and glared sulkily at the offending blue device. "Fine. Suit yourself. Be like that! See if I care."

These were the last words that found their way out of the Time Lord's rather large mouth, before one large man by the name of Nathan Naero raised his rotten Granny Smith apple into the air, and found himself unintentionally lurching towards and into the man called the Doctor.

At that very moment, the Time Lord was 903 years, 24 weeks, and sulky and dissatisfied, when all the air was knocked out of his bi-respiratory lungs, and the screwdriver which happened to be sonic slipped out of his hands, plunged up into the air, and disappeared into the crowd.

_Still_ sticky, uncomfortable, sulky, dissatisfied, and 903 years of age, but now filled with the additional sense of desperation, the Doctor frantically sniffed and searched for his trusty Sonic Screwdriver. Two minutes, twenty seconds later, the Doctor's eyes glowed with happiness and elate, as his eyes caught sight of a metal object on the floor, glinting blue, in the sunlight.

The Time Lord raced after it frenetically, as the Screwdriver was rolled around the place by the shoeless and the sockless, to the shoed _and_ socked. It was finally kicked out, from underneath the cascade of feet, and spooled smoothly onto empty land. A grin that could light up the entire county lit up his face.

But his grin soon transformed into a wide-eyed frown, as he watched a gloved hand peel it away from the floor. The Doctor leapt through the crowd and made for the Screwdriver, diving for his beloved.

"NOOOOO!" he shouted.

It was too late. He landed onto the floor with a _thunk_, and found _no_ Screwdriver – of any shape, form, or size – in sight.

Still strewn across the mob-free piece of ground, the Doctor's lip trembled, his eyes turned glassy, and he broke into a distant reverie. That was it. He'd lost everything. His companions, his loyalty to bananas, his cleanliness, 903 years and 24 weeks of his life, his Converses, and _now_… his Sonic Screwdriver. His precious, precious--

Hey! Hang on a minute. Since _when_ did Converses get signed up onto the list of Lost Things? He didn't lose them, surely?! In fact, he was ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine _nine_ percent sure that he _hadn't _lost them, and still had them on his feet. As a matter of fact, to prove his Time Lord brain he was right, the Doctor wriggled his toes.

Ha! See! There! Said feet were covered with the solid, smooth fabric of Con—

The Doctor's eyes widened in shock. He wriggled his toes again. But… But…Wait a minute…

He jumped up from his lying position, and stood on two feet – looking down at his feet, in complete and utter horror… His jaw dropped open. They weren't there! His shoes were _not_ there! Just a shade of bright orange and yellow, staring back up at him, but no Converse. But it couldn't be… He certainly hadn't seen or _felt_ anybody taking them either. Maybe it was a trick of the light… It had to be!

Toe wiggles. No, still no shoes. More toe wiggles. No shoes. One last time. The Doctor shut his eyes tightly, wiggled his toes, and cracked an eye open… STILL _NO_ SHOES!

"But I liked those shoes…" the Doctor muttered to himself, quietly.

He didn't _just_ liked those shoes. He _fancied_ those shoes. He _loved_ those shoes. He was very, very attracted to those shoes. But, who could blame him? They were very, very nice shoes, to say the least. They were _his_ shoes; his Converses, and now… they were gone! Poof! Just like that. He hadn't even noticed they were gone. They could've been gone for ages. They could've been stolen just when he walked in. They could've been--

The man called the Doctor was interrupted, in his train of thought, when a small hand patted him on the back.

The Time Lord swivelled around on the balls of his _shoeless_ feet. "Have _you _seen my shoes?!"

"No. But, I've found this!" Chuck informed, with a grin. She raised a hand into the air, to reveal one slim, blue-tipped device.

"MY SCREWDRIVER!" the Doctor exclaimed joyously and beamed at her gratefully, pinching his device from her fingers and cradling it gently. He was fiddling around with the settings, when he realised something. His smile dropped slightly.

"What's the matter?"

He smirked, and raised a smug eyebrow at her. **"**_You_ were supposed to be _waiting_ in a nice, secluded corner with your boyfriend. Ned," he stated, watching as the colour in her cheeks turned into a flushed red.

"A man called Jonathan, looking for his little girl, mistook my hair for his daughter's and unintentionally yanked me into the crowd," she reasoned. "Where are your friends? I thought you were trying to find them too."

The Doctor tucked the Sonic Screwdriver into his pocket, and he jammed his hands into his pockets. He shrugged and said, "There's that, and the fact that – I'm sorry and I hope you don't mind me saying – you're just so very, very wrong." The Doctor contemplated something, smiling slightly. "Reminds me of a certain Captain Jack, I know."

Chuck frowned and said, "What do you me--" Then, she remembered a certain something and eyed the charging mob… "Let's save Emerson and Olive, first." And she dragged the Time Lord off.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

"Emerson!" the voice of the girl named Chuck called out, suddenly. "Over here!"

Confused yet attentive, Emerson Cod's eyes skimmed the area to find one tall string bean in brown pinstripes and Converses, along with one Charlotte Charles cloaked in yellow, standing out against the cool white of the wall behind them, and mere metres away from them.

"Emerson!" Olive yelped suddenly. She looked to the Private Investigator with wide, bright eyes – totally oblivious to Chuck, and the Doctor. "Mob psychology!"

"What about it?"

"We need to think, and fast. We've got to confuse the crowd and--"

"There's a MOB coming your way!" a string-bean-in-a-suit yelled suddenly, from a daringly _short_ distance away from them.

"We _know_!" Olive shouted back. A red and white Converse suddenly came zipping through the air, and connected with the back of Olive's turned back.

"OW!" Olive shrieked, and jumped around, scanning the crowd for the culprit.

"Well, don't just stand there lookin' like some a dumb dog. Just move precious _be_hind over there!" Emerson growled abruptly, ushering Olive to move towards Chuck and the Doctor.

Digby whined, in complaint, as if to say "Dogs aren't dumb!". But Digby was ignored.

"But… But… But that's MY SHOE!" the familiar voice of the Doctor yelled at them, his voice festive and cheerful. "_MY _SHOE?!"

However, Emerson Cod and Olive Snook were far too busy arguing amongst themselves, to pay any attention at all to the needy Time Lord. Digby let out a soft bark, that could only be described as an exasperated sigh, as he picked the one Converse up into his jaws. And _they _said dogs were dumb…

The P.I. and the Itty Bitty slowly shuffled to the sides, with Digby mooching after them. They tried to make a dash for it, but suddenly a gang of grey-haired pensioners armed with their rotten _Granny Smiths_ and shiny, polished black shoes, closed in on them – leaving the trio completely and affirmatively trapped; North, East, South, _and_ West.

Gnashing their false teeth, like the devout shoe extremists they were, the pensioners loaded up their rotten _Grannies_. Giggling and cheering on the shoe thieves, the children trekked across the carpet, whipping off people's shoes as they went. Mumbling and straightening their ties, the business men and woman "pardoned" their way out of the crowds. High on pear cider and stories of shoe scabs, the drunks raised their bottles to the air. Shoes in hands, and minds mentally mobbed by one mad Miriam, the rest of the fuming shoe fanatics raised their shoes, in a warlike manner, and yelled nonsense…

And the whole murderous mob advanced. Rotten apples, shoes, and insults instantly came firing their way – their only protection being the thick, red rope that they had imperceptibly stepped over and were now, shielded behind. Temporarily.

Though their bodies were separated, from the ravenously ruthless shoe-frenzied mob, their bodies, however, remained vulnerable and exposed to the wild threat of rotten apples, and flying shoes. As did, one Olive Snook discovered for the second time, in two minutes, as the rotten and half-eaten _Granny Smith_ coincidentally found itself lodged inside of her mouth.

"Alright!" Olive yelled, after she'd spat the dead fruit out with disgust. "Which one of you old-timers hit me with the Granny?!"

"I. Do. Not. Care. Look, Olive. Be reasonable. If you wanna a death by shoe, then _please_ do stay. But I happen to value my life – money can't count itself ya know, so _get out_ of _my_ way!" Emerson demanded, trying to push the waitress out of the way. "_Please_?!"

Scowling, Olive allowed room for Emerson and Digby to attempt to squeeze through the small gap that would lead them away from the small, yet cosy society of tranquillity behind the rope, and into the shoe-driven reality of a mob.

The facts were these. As the cogs of Olive's brain changed direction, and although she was unaware of this fact, Olive Snook suddenly became the sole cause of eight different things, all in the space of fifteen seconds, because of her one simple, but significant action.

One: Olive Snook decided that enough was enough, and had randomly wrenched a prized and stubborn shoe off its small podium, from behind her, aiming to toss it at an unsuspecting member of the mob.

Two: one Time Lord charged through the crowd, intending to aid his friends, but bumped into one nearly stepped-over-the-rope-and-escaped Emerson Cod.

Three: one guilty, shamefaced Time Lord received a dark glower, as he, Emerson, and Digby were trapped behind the rope once more – too cornered to escape the clutches of the crowd.

Four: one Digby barked in warning, as one large trap door flapped open to create one gaping, black hole in the plush carpet.

Five: two humans, a Time Lord, and one dog were not capable of hovering above large, gaping holes, and stumbled down into it.

Six: one trap door flapped shut.

Seven: one mad, murderous mob, turned into a bemused, baffled one.

Eight: one Charlotte Charles squeezed her way to the front, and was very, very confused.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

**A/N:-**

**SECRET TIME:****- **

**Next chapter up… soon?!**

**Come right up! Come right up! Buy one get one twenty free today! One review, for twenty KitKats and a Batmobile! You won't get them anywhere else cheaper… =D**


	14. Chapter 13 Of Spacemen and Dogs Named Di

**A/N:- ****I'M ALIIIIIIIVE! **

**Am vair sorry! ****I know, 'tis been ages and waaaaay too long since I've uploaded anything! But YESHES, I managed to coax my Vati of his precious Windows XP installation disc and now me has new and (hopefully) improved windows!! YAYZEE! On the other hand, I have to utterly, completely, positively, quackily, definitely REDO my entire profile. 'Tis all been wiped outtt! *sobs***

**Big mugs and thanksies for your specspatula reviews!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Pushing Daises, Digby would get the main part!! And as for Doctor Who… Well, Simon Cowell would be my master villain**** + I'd force DT to staaaaaaaaay. Heehaw! **

**WARNING: Lotsa dialogue, consisting of pointless blathering on…**

**=D**** (Ooh and un-betaed.)**

**

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Deductions, Spacemen, And A Dog Named Digby

The facts were these. The dog named Digby, not only found himself blindly tumbling down a hole, but was exposed to knowledge that left most dogs still wondering. One: - much to Digby's disapproval - cartoon animations, where the beloved pink rabbit or two often found himself or herself walking on thin air, on the invention called the television, were _not_ to be trusted. Two: he really did not understand humans, and their strange tradition of falling down conveniently placed holes. In fact, it confused Digby very much.

One Private Eye, one Itty Bitty, one Time Lord, and one mound of fur by the name of Digby, soon comprehended the fact that gravity was _not_ a very friendly force, once coming to terms with unexpected, gaping, black holes in the floor, and shortly found themselves plummeting down a chasm of pitch-black darkness.

_OOF!_ All five collapsed into a large, lumpy heap of human and dog, onto the sand-covered ground. A large, brown cloud of dust enveloped them, as they each vainly struggled to untangle themselves from one another… in the dark.

"Everyone OK?" an authoritative voice asked, as they'd all seemingly to have risen up from the heap on the floor – well, sand, on this occasion.

"Yep."

"Yeah."

"Woof!"

"Good. First thing's—"

"_OW_! Whose dumb idea was it to step on my best sneakers?"

"Oh 'ello, Digby, what've you got— MY SHOES!"

"MY SHOES!"

"I think that was me! Bit dark, if you haven't noticed."

"…Cos that dumb idea won't be very happy, when I find out— Wait. Who said that?!"

"Me."

"Good dog! Remind me to--"

"Me? Who's me?!"

"ME!" a feminine voice shouted.

"What d'you mean that's--"

"THE LOCHNESS MONSTER!!" the man who was supposedly the Doctor yelled.

"_THE LOCHNESS MONSTER!"_ His voice bounced off the cavern walls.

"Always wanted to do that," the Doctor muttered, grinning goofily, to himself.

Everybody stopped in their tracks, and froze in the darkness. Two "WHAAAAAT?!"s and "WOOF!" followed.

"Shhh!" the man yelled again. "Sorry. Just wanted your attention. Can anybody hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"_Hear what?"_ a voice echoed back.

"That!"

"_That!_" boomed the echo.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"

"_Everybody shut up!_"

"From now on, everybody just whisper."

"Digby," a female whispered, feeling something soft and furry, "it's either you've grown five feet tall, or— _Oh_. It's just a coat."

"It's not just any coat," possibly the Doctor cut in cheerily, as a lean figure ducked down to fumble with his feet. "Janis Joplin gave it to me!"

"I don't care if the Lochness Monster gave it to you. I just wanna know where the hell we are, 'cos it certainly ain't up there, in the museum." The man breathed, and translated his snappy ramble, "We need some light."

"Good thinking! Light. Light, light, light, light— of course! The Sonic Screwdriver!"

Some fumbling and mutters later, a small buzz in the air filled the air and a small blue light was produced, from a long, pen-like device. The Doctor exclaimed a triumphant "Ha!", as the light shone brighter, and the area surrounding them was basked in an illuminating, sapphire blue.

The blueish, light-tinted faces of Emerson, Olive, the Doctor, and Digby soon became clearly visible. But, the colour of their clothes and faces stood out like sore thumbs against the bleak, brown dullness enclosing them.

"So?" Olive enquired softly, "Where are we?"

"Weeeeell," the Doctor began, his eyes swiftly swimming over the vast underground cavern they appeared to be in, "it seems to me, that we're trapped. And ooh, about forty, fifty feet underground, maybe?"

"Or, in somebody's secret passageway," Emerson said decisively.

"Oh, what makes you think that?" the Time Lord asked, perplexed.

The Private Investigator grinned smugly, as some short distance away from them, Digby barked down a tunnel which was slightly hidden behind a mound of rocks.

"Eh?" a pensioner said, in bewilderment, staring form his rotten apple in his hand, to the empty space behind the red ropes.

"Where'd they go?!" a random person in the crowd yelled.

"Olive? Emerson? Digby?"

"Down the hole, of course!" another random, yet smarter person piped up. "There must be a trap door around there somewhere, and there must be a form of trigger to--"

"Shu'p clever clogs!" Mad Miriam snapped back.

The crowd subsequently broke out into loud shouts of conversation.

"MEH!" someone shouted, above the others. "Accept it! Show's over! Let's just go wild, and carry on browsing shoes like loons! C'MON GUYS!"

"Well, what do you say, random scientist man?"

"Well, they do say it may be the last exhibiting we may do for a while, and there is the perceptibly plausible chance of there being a shoe apoca--"

"SHOEEEEEEEEES!"

And the once-mob, now-crowd were off.

* * *

_A submissively successful silence late__r …_

"Rickoji speaking Rickoji's language!_ YOU_ speaking Rickoji's language! ALL BODIES SPEAKING RICKOJI LANGUAGE!" the little alien squeaked decisively, making a noise which could only be translated as a stubborn "_harrumph_".

Donna and Rose stared at each other, both knowledgably biting back laughter, at the absurd cuteness of the strange, little alien. Confused and perplexed, Ned stared at the alien, still not quite able to believe the fact that the green and purple thing, before his eyes, very much existed. But, if truth be told, the Pie Maker had just about given up debating with the alien.

"Rickoji…" the alien began, but was cut off by the quiet, but audible sound of a phone ringing.

Feeling the vibration in her pocket, Donna rolled her eyes, murmured an irked apology, and removed the mobile from its resting place.

What?! With a frown, she looked to Rose – one hand fiddling with an earring, the other hand hanging loosely down her side, and then back to the four blatant words flashing on the screen of her mobile. _Rose_, the screen read. This was not making sense. Rose was, as far as she could see, not in any contact whatsoever with her pockets, or her phone, yet Rose was calling her? Right.

'_Best get it over and done with_,' Donna thought, as the phone continued to ring.

Excusing herself out of the area, Donna walked over to a quiet corner in the shoe exhibit room and answered the call.

"Hello?" she said.

"Donna!" a voice half-whispered, back at her.

_Doctor_?!

"What?! Why've you got Rose's phone for?"

"It fell out of her pocket, I picked it up," the Doctor defended quickly – and quietly. A little _too_ quickly, in fact. The Time Lord could practically hear Donna's silent sceptism. "What?! It did!"

"Sure. And don't tell me, I s'pose you 'forgot' to give it back to her, did you?" Donna smirked.

"Yeap. You read my mind! That's exactly what I was gonna say! You know, you should really go to the planet Mens Lectio – they're an planet entirely made out of mind readers from all across the Universe. Bit corrupt and been in a permanent recession for most of its days, but… anyway!" the Doctor babbled. Who knew he could still talk as fast and as mad, even when talking in a hushed whisper! "Whenever they're hired to… well, read minds they have to travel around in these dinky, little space pods! They're painted with green and blue polkadots! _Polkadots!_ How brilliant is that?! Very! So, how 'bout it, Donna? You get three thousand Odutolas per job! Which is only… ooh… 9.869655 pence in British pounds, but you never know…" Donna swore she could hear the Doctor's grin. "It'd suit you!"

"You'd better watch it, Spaceman!"

"Do I take that as a yes or a no?" the Doctor mumbled cheekily.

"No! I'd slap you one, if you were here."

"I bet…"

"What'd you say?!"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Get on with it, then: why're you calling? No, never mind that - _why're you whispering_?" Donna enquired, dropping her voice to a whisper for the latter part.

"Ah, yes. Almost forgot. Anyway. Digby, Emerson, Olive, and I are trapped 50 feet below the museum, in an underground cavern of some sort."

"How the hell did you…"

"Don't ask. No, really, don't. It's a long story."

"_We fell down a hole_!" the familiar voice of one Emerson Cod answered loudly, in the background.

"_And_, guess what!?"

"_What_?" Donna asked, unenthusiastically.

"I got my shoes back! You know my red Converses, with the--"

"Get on with it. Wait, when did you lose your--"

"Now, I need you or Rose, or both of you, to go back to the TARDIS. I need you to use the scanner to track the Sonic Screwdriver's location, and bring a map up of Papen County's underground network. See what you can find--"

"But, how? This is the TARDIS we're talking about. Everything'll be in Martian!"

"Gallifreyan," corrected the Doctor.

"Yeah, Gallifreyan, then. In case you haven't noticed, Doctor, me an' Rose aren't exactly Time Lords. Ladies. Whatever."

"Just… _ask _politely."

"Ask politely. You want us – me - Rose, to just _ask politely_?!"

"Yep. That's what I said. I keep telling ya, the TARDIS gets inside your head! She's a living being. Like you, or me. Weeell, to be specific, when I say like you or me, what I really mean is me - seeing as TARDISes were grown on Gallifrey and I'm Gallifreyan, well Time Lord, but you get what I mean. _But_… then again, when I say "me", what I _actually_ mean is--"

"I'm on it," Donna cut in, not waiting for an answer, and summarily snapping the phone shut.

* * *

_Whilst one Donna Noble was absent…_

A small silence followed, as they quietly watched the alien quite happily hop up, cut out, and 'collect' the shoes from their pristine glass encasements.

A purple laser was produced. "Rickoji LOVE shoes." A circle of glass was cut out. "Rickoji COLLECT shoes. Rickoji NEED shoes."

"So you, what, steal shoes for a living?" Rose said, her forehead creasing, as she started to take tentative steps closer to Rickoji.

"Giant wrong! Rickoji _COLLECT_ shoes!" the alien corrected, persistently.

"Technically speaking - everything we take or obtain, download or facsimile, without paying or granted the owner's permission - is basically classed as 'stealing'," Ned amended.

"Rickoji only _COLLECT_! Rickoji no steal. Stealing baaaaad! Giants no making sense!"

"If ya don't mind, we do have names: I'm Rose, an' this is Ned." Rose introduced themselves, Ned nodding, as the girl named Rose gestured him. She jerked a thumb behind her shoulder. "And that was Donna."

"Roooose. Neeeed. Donnaaaa," the alien repeated. "Preeeetty names." He shook his head, and continued his work: the pile of shoes growing rapidly, as the alien's work pick up its pace. "Rickoji collect shoes. Rickoji work fast. Rickoji finish collect and go, before Rickoji hear giants scream."

A little hesitantly, Ned asked, "Where do you keep the shoes? After you've 'collected' them, I mean."

"Rickoji know secret, Rooooss and Need do not!" Rickoji giggled, in a gurgly sing-song voice .

"You don't happen to 'ave a spaceship, do you?" quizzed Rose, curiously.

"Spaceships like the tiny blue box, that disappeared from the Pie Hole's back alley, which all three of you couldn't possibly fit in without being remotely intimate?" Ned said to Rose.

"How did you--" Rose shook her head. "I won't even ask. But, yeah," she breathed out.

"Rickoji has spaceship! Rickoji has biiiiig spaceship!" Rickoji chirped. "In pocket!"

Ned and Rose looked to each other. Despite the doubtful looks of the Londoner and the Pie Maker, young Rickoji dipped a hand down into the folds of his bare purple skin and pulled out a small, green, golf ball sized object. Disbelief floated through the air.

Ned blinked twice in succession, before he looked from the impossibly existing alien standing before him to the impossibly small object in its hands.

"That's… your spaceship," Rose said disbelievingly.

"Rickoji spaceship! Rickoji spaceship!"

"S'bit small, ain't it?"

"No small! No small! Rickoji ship BIG. Rickoji must wait."

"A big_ger_ spaceship, that can hold twenny-odd-thousand shoes?" she tried again.

"No. Rickoji; one ship. But Rickoji ship not small; Rickoji ship biiiiig! BIIIG! Rickoji's ship need recharge first. Rickoji's ship need grow biiiiig. Then Rickoji flyyyy! FLYYY! Rickoji collect shoes, while wait."

"An' how long does the recharging take?"

"Three six five!"

"Three six five minutes? Three six five weeks? Three six five hours?"

"A year!" Ned chipped in, explaining, "There are 365 days in a year – not counting the leap. Three. Six. Five."

"Good thinking, Ned," Rose commented. She squinted, arched an eyebrow, and took a wild guess. "You use _shoes_ to recharge?"

Suddenly, the alien looked aghast. "_NO_! Shoes like sacred being to Rickoji. Shoes is tradition. Shoes is what Giants call 'hobby'. Shoes for collection. Not fuel."

Ned furrowed his brow. "But, you've got the whole planet--" Ned glanced at the alien. "--universe to steal shoes from, yet Papen County's missing shoe rate is going up and up. Higher than any other American city's missing shoe rate. Higher than any country or city's missing shoe rate. There are lots of other countries and cities to choose from. Norway, for example. Not pinpointing Norway for personal reasons, like Nils Nilsen, of course." Ned took a deep breath. "So, why are you stealing most of the shoes from Papen County?"

Hugging the ever-growing pile of shoes, which – quite funnily enough – no persons by the names of Ned and Rose were attempting to prevent from increasing, Rickoji laughed. In fact, Rickoji laughed a thick, gurgling laugh which had quite the capability of causing a mass avalanche with.

"This place shoes are many! Many shoes to choose! Variety. Strange shoes. Crazy shoes. Tall shoes. Spiiiiky shoes. Converse. Rocket dog. Hush puppy. This place hold shoe exhibition! Famous people shoes! Lotsa lotsa famous Giant shoes! Rickoji like famous Giant, like Kreira Kitelady! Rickoji also like smell of Deflectors! Deflectors naaaiiiiiice smell."

_Keira __Knightley_? Rose thought to herself.

"_Deflectors_." Rose's lips sunk into a frown. "But I've heard that word before."

"Everybody's heard of _Deflectors_, nobody's not hear do _Deflectors_. they're the talk of the town. I don't think there's anybody in the whole of Papen County, that doesn't," Ned rambled, long-windedly. "It's a practically a crime, on its own, not knowing what _Deflectors_ are. You'd get lynched and mobbed and mocked, for the rest of your life, for not knowing of them." The Pie Maker's eye twitched slightly; his lips mistaken for a ventriloquist's, as they formed the words, "And Emerson owns a pair."

Why was she so thick today? Of course they were a brand of shoes. They were _talking about shoes_ and brands, that entire time! It was a infamous brand of shoes. A brand of shoe. A simple brand of shoes. Nothing else. Just a shoe brand, right? Then why did it prod her in the back, and insist that it rung a bell? Why, also, did the simple solution that it was a shoe brand not satisfy the hunger of her mind, and rumble determinedly for more?

"That's not it… There's somethin' else. Somethin' we've missed." And that was when she noticed Rickoji abstractedly gnawing on a multicoloured shoelace.

Images began to flash through her mind. Posters. Missing trainers. Rickoji the shoe "collector". Murder. Death by shoelaces. No shoes. Paris. It suddenly all made sense.

"You killed him…"

* * *

**DUN-DUN-DUN! ****SOOOO… Rickoji killed Paris! Or did he? ****Zat is ze kestion mon petit pallys! ****Oh, but you already know the answer! =P**

**Sozzes, couldn't thinkies of a way to fit Chuck in! But no fear, she be in next chappie! Up… Tuesday?!?!?!?!?**

**Am luurving reviews/feedback. They're really ****VAIR**** nutritious for the rubber duckies! **


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